Surrender
by anonymously-miscellaneous
Summary: The boy they all saw was clumsy, sometimes empty headed, overbearingly confident in his looks and charm, constantly put down and ridiculed but always 'happy', seemingly regardless of everything that happened, regardless of everything that could happen. That was all they seemed to see; all they seemed to know. The Wally that Wally himself preferred. Warnings inside. Dick/Wally
1. The Oblivious

~Surrender~

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily! Young Justice

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, cannon, overall kind of a dark fic.

**Disclaimer**_:_ I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-This takes place in the first season of YJ, before "Homefront" and "Coldhearted" (kind of an AU timeline extension, sorry about that), so Artemis, Kaldur, Dick, and Wally are, obviously, still on the team; Dick is Robin, Wally is Kid Flash, Artemis is Green Arrow, and Kaldur is Aqualad (sorry, but I only see the original six as the only six on the team.) Red Tornado is one of their den mothers and the team calls and answers to him and Black Canary-

* * *

He comes to them with wounds; yellowing bruises, scratches and gnarly looking burns, scabbing cuts that could never be accounted for, which wasn't really out of the blue. They fought _villains_, the everyday scum that harassed and polluted the world, which during their battles, didn't really have time to play nice while they didn't really have time to keep inventory on all wounds gathered. So, Dick wrote it off the first few times. So did everyone else, it seemed, constantly though. That was their first fault; their first mistake and major wrong-doing.

Then the wounds started to turn up in…inconvenient places. Places where they _shouldn't _have been, even if the vigilante's they batted around with played a little too rough. They manifested in the oddest places, in the oddest manners that seemed outlandish for vigilantes whose main style of fighting was with brute force, physical advantages, meta powers, and many numbers. It's not like Dick would look for them _(well, not at first)._ It's not like he would physically search Wally and find them. He was just…careless, seeing as he went through so much trouble to try and belittle every abrasion discovered by one of the Young Justice.

"_Wally…what happened to your arm?"_

"_Oh this little cut? Ha Ha I tripped while running. No big deal, babe. Don't worry your gorgeous head about it."_

"_Did you get trampled by Conner or something? Jeez Wally, those bruises…"_

"_Of course not, beautiful. I just had a little run in with a macho man who didn't know who he was dealing with. I had to take it rough with the bozo, teach him a little bit about the amazing Kid Flash. Things got a bit out of hand. Heh, I handled it though, _obviously_. But, never underestimate a man with an arm as thick as a light pole."_

"_Kid Flash, where did you acquire such markings?"_

"_I just kinda'… rushed in during the mission, remember? Didn't you see me get tackled by that huge freak? Dude, I totally crashed into a pile of crates! I've got splinters all over my back now."_

The first time Dick brought it up they had been changing in the locker room after a successful mission. Honestly, it had been easy to forget, because Wally was a showman and he had convincing, awkward bravado and a smile that had to make more than just him a _tad_ bit weak in the knees.

Dick swears his eyes weren't already on Wally when he started to take off his uniform, peeling the slick spandex from his pale, sweaty and freckled skin with much difficulty. His gaze simply slid over to the boy when he let out a hissing breath and quickly covered it up with a loud belch, laughing nervously and turning his back away from Connor who glared over his shoulder. It was when Wally pivoted, exposing his back carelessly to Dick, did he see the mark.

Shaped like a hand, the bruise was a sickening color of blue and purple, standing out stark against Wally's creamy skin. It was settled low on his upper arm, near his elbow and when Wally turned a little more to watch Kaldu'r and Conner leave, Dick felt sick to his stomach as the hand print revealed fingers curled all the way around and in the crease of his elbow. Near the base of his spine sat another, in the shape of a fist.

It was older, already fading away into a sickly yellow green. Dick's stomach jerked and he shuddered, repressing a disgusted, horrified sneer. There had always been something so disturbing and unsettling to Dick about seeing another person's wounds and maybe that was all it was. Just his paranoia and anxiety and fear of losing someone to the bruises and bleeding and broken bones…again.

He started when a blue shirt was pulled down over the bruising and Wally, with his uniform still around his waist, pivoted to give him a wide smile turned queer once Dick didn't return it.

"Dude, you alright?"

He didn't nod straight away, just stared at the faint scars and marks left on Wally's arms and neck , the ones he never noticed before _(-stupid, stupid!-_), before meeting curious green eyes, giving a brief jerk of his head. Maybe it was OK, they all got hurt and they understood it was an unavoidable disadvantage that came with being a 'hero' , but something about seeing such menacing bruises on a seemingly harmless person didn't sit well with Dick. He shifted on his feet, tried to keep quiet, but…

"I'm fine. Are you KF?" His voice was unexpectedly gruff and Wally blinked at him, titling his head at the anger he projected. Dick didn't know why he was angry, but he knew what he was angry at. Himself, the bruises, Wally for not saying anything in the debriefing. All wounds acquired during battle needed to be catalogued and recorded; if bad enough, photographed and entered into the system for future reference or simply for awareness, but that wasn't why he was vexed. It wasn't because Wally broke a _rule_, even if it _was_ Batman's.

"Uh, yeah Rob. I'm peachy...maybe starving, but peachy none the less." Wally gave a wide grin and turned away, oblivious to the way Dicks eyes had narrowed behind his mask, trained solely on him as he jumped around in a brutal fight for balance while trying to get the rest of his costume off. His cowl lay limp over the bag of after-mission previsions Wally always kept stocked full and fresh and the sleeves of his uniform flapped around his waist ridiculously.

Once his uniform lay around his ankles, revealing his bright Superman boxers, Dick felt mildly betrayed and scandalized, and even more irked as Wally winced and straightened halfway in the process of pulling the suit completely off. Dick crossed his arms as Wally sat down hastily, a bit paler and sweater than before.

"Where did you get those bruises from KF." It wasn't a question, really, and Wally heard it in Dick's voice; not a question, not one he could avoid, a command…Wally had always been a follower and surprisingly good at going by orders _(when he actually listened to them)._ Wally was suddenly even paler than before, a bloodless white. Sweat beaded on his brow. He waited, blinked, stared, before raising an eyebrow, slowly.

"From fighting that bank robber tonight Rob."

Dick's eyes narrowed further as he took a noiseless step forward, his cape fluttering behind him. Wally, sensing his disbelief, averted his eyes, leveling his gaze with the floor.

"Maybe the one on your arm…but the other one by your spine has got to be at least a week or two old and I specifically remember you being excluded from _any_ and _all_ missions last week because of a lone run in with the Terror Twins, some rogue drug dealers, both of which were not called in _or _reported, a cracked tibia and a partially exploded building, which may I add, _still_ needs to be fully repaired."

Wally opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he seemed to think better of it and close his mouth a second later, which instantly set off red lights in Dick's head. Wally always had something to say, and he'd been well known to not care about stopping or filtering what came out of his mouth. Wally always said whatever it was he meant to. He continued with a sudden flare of determination.

"And if that bruise on your side is from today's mission, why not report it to Batman or have it looked at? You know the protocol by now and you were running in and out of the bank taking the hostages to safety the whole time. None of the vigilante's even laid a hand on you KF. Gosh, I bet they didn't even _see_ you." A note of exasperation crept into his voice as he cocked a hip and placed a hand on it, trying to school the worry in his expression as Wally refused to meet his eyes, sitting silently on the bench.

"What's going on Wally?"

Wally's jaded emerald eyes snapped up to his too quickly. In the next second—the one immediately after the words fell from his mouth and directly before he'd been abandoned in the locker room- Wally's jeans were on and he was in Dick's face, so close that they shared one deep, intimate breath before Dick chocked off his own. His form gave an involuntary shudder at the look on Wally's normally carefree face. He looked…crest fallen and subdued and livid and hopeful and sad and scared and confused and everything, every emotion, all at once.

Dick had never been a very sentimental person, not since his parents, but Wally is Wally, and there's no staying stoical with him. The emotions became palpable and Dick felt them, felt them run down his throat, blocking his air as he swallowed it all, choked on it; his air way felt barricaded off as if filled with molasses. Swallowing was a struggle.

Wally's eyes were a bright sparkling green and around his pupils were little speckles of yellow and what seemed to be gold. A jagged slash of hazel brown, almost resembling a lightning bolt, eerily enough, ran through his left pupil, disappearing into the black and reappearing on the other side. Dick had never noticed it before; he'd never been that close with Wally _(well, that_ physically _close with Wally.)_

"Nothing Dick." His words were soft, misspoken, wasted, a _lie_, and Dick only realized that after he'd spent another slow, breathless minute staring at the empty space which had previously been occupied by Wally.

After that, Dick let it slide again, because what could he do? Entertain an idea that was highly implausible? Wally was more than capable to defend and take care of himself and there really was no proof that Wally had gotten that bruise outside of his superhero life; even if he had…who would have produced it? What would Dick have done? Told Black Canary and Batman? Asked KF where he got them from, again? Demand answers and go off to punish some unjust person for harming his friend? He wasn't Batman. Not yet, at least. There was nothing Dick could have done without solid evidence.

The next few days were just like they always had been. Wally and Dick fell into their regular routine, as if nothing had ever happened, and Dick was guessing Wally really was pretending nothing had happened but now he changes when no one's looking, or _'super speedy swift'_ so no one, Dick included, can see him. He's also always the first one out of the locker rooms. Dick doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything, but observe.

He keeps track of Wally and the new bruises that sprout up on his arms _(shaped like fingers and knuckles)_ the deep gashes and cuts that hide under bandages and occasionally get infected _(something Dick wouldn't have even noticed unless he saw those suspicious bruises, he berates himself for his lack of observation. He's a detective and his lack of attention is…its _pe_rturbing)_ and even the burns that hide under collars and jeans and jackets. Wally is always careful and no one but him seems to notice, no one seems to notice something isn't quite _right_, but Dick just waits until he has more data, enough observational knowledge to put together and stick under the microscope, for proper tactical analysis and hypothesis and conclusion.

It takes him a while, a frustrating, aggravating, suspenseful amount of time consuming, relentless work on his part, but he finally _knows_. He knows what abuse looks like.

Dick just watches for now, keeps a vigil eye out, waiting for a bigger sign, a broken bone, a name, a call for _help (because Wally is sensible, even if he can be absent-minded and illogical)_, and hoping it's not going to be Wally's death that concludes it all, he stays whelmed.

* * *

Notes I guess:

So, this is going to lead somewhere and hopefully people interested with the first chapter will stick around long enough to see where. You can already probably guess where it's going to go but hey, suspense and angsty stories suffice as good time fillers. ;) Sorry if the characters seem OOC, I'm horribly bad at character adaption and development and all that but there hasn't been much to decide on I guess? There will be soon enough.

If there are any questions, feel free to ask. Same goes for reviews (which is basically all the same in some way).

…I've got a feeling I'm going to delete this after leaving it up for a while… Enjoy, regardless.


	2. The Freedom

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily! Young Justice

**Author: **anonymously_miscellaneous

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, canon, overall kind of a dark fic

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-I said I would elaborate and I shall. What I basically mean concerning this _(kind of an AU timeline extension with more behind the scenes moments between major events in the show and episodes, sorry about that -I'll most likely elaborate before the next chapter or after-) _ is partly just as it seems. There is no drastic changes or straying from the plot, but I find the time between major events in the episodes more spread out. So basically, there's more time in between episode events _(if I even decide to incorporate them into the story). _ If no one gets what I'm trying to say, feel free to ask. I'll specify and clarify to the best of my ability. Enjoy.-

* * *

They've been doing this for _hours_; lying on their backs, staring at the sky _(naming cloud shapes on Wally's relentless persistence)_, talking about Jesse James, caramel, history textbooks, polyethylene glycol, Barbara Streisand, chocolate, electromagnetic wavelengths and frequencies, milkshakes, Hodge Podge bungalows, trapeze artists _(which Dick takes a particular liking to)_, and the denouement of the trivial mystery known as Inception, time is a fickle thing, trapped in the ephemeral tolerance they have regarding each spur of the moment subject.

Wally brought the food _(half already gone in the first thirty minutes of their sit in)_ and Dick brought the reason; the excuse that's going to be fed to Red Tornado and Black Canary _(and maybe even Batman)_ concerning their absence during the past few hours lost together. They've been doing this for a while and it seems to be a little ritual between the two of them, a break from all the strain and effort and pain and disaster that is their lives. Every once and a while, they deserve this little leeway.

Maybe on a rough night or a bad day they'll get in contact and conjure up a new rendezvous, find some place in-between, whether it's the movie theater, Cal's Diner, the park, or even Wayne Enterprises roof, and they'll just relax, spend the night in a passive languor: sit and talk and laugh about whatever they can think up on the spot. It's _nice_; Dick enjoys it because when does he _ever_ get a break? When do they _ever_ get a break? From what he can tell, Wally enjoys it _to (especially since he's usually the one to request their meetings)_ and on such nights or days they have a blatant disregard for anything and everything outside their little world.

Problems are pushed aside, struggles let go, anxieties and worries cut loose; the only thing they focus on is each other and the volatile, color streaked sky adorned with stars on clear Gotham nights.

Tonight so happens to be relatively cloudless.

"-all I'm saying is girls are high maintenance man. I mean, they're great and all but take Artemis for example! She's amazing, I mean, like, smart and strong and attractive and independent but she's still got her standards and if they're not met up to, wow, good luck, I'll tell you now. She's so pushy and rough around the edges and I feel like she's gonna 'accidentally' kill me for no reason, wait no, for being _me_. Never break a promise to Artemis. You'll have trouble feeling your body for about a month.

And on top of that! They have these, like, unreal expectations about men, just like men sometimes unfairly have for women and it's like, well am I supposed to be Taylor Lautner or Robert Pattinson? Do I have to turn into a werewolf or have sparkly skin to even be able to approach you?"

Wally gives a big dramatic sigh and flops back in the grass with a resigned look on his face. His slender hands come up to intertwine with his unruly hair, pulling and mussing it further as he rolls around like some kind of crazy man, mumbling indistinct things that sound vaguely like the lyrics to Michael Jackson's _Smooth Criminal_. Dick simply watches and tries to piece together all of what Wally said, grabbing the last few scraps and cans of food they have to preserve the dregs from a fire-less stop, drop, and roll victim.

Wally suddenly comes to a standstill and, lying on his side, facing Dick, his seriousness is dully noted in favor of the cow licks and many upright strands of red hair.

"Women are strange, horrifying, attractive creatures, I'm telling you now. Good luck having to deal with them when you're older. I mean, even interacting with them can be like a glimpse into marriage! They're so demanding and bossy, which isn't bad cause it means they're independent and won't take crap from no one…but because of that why do they suddenly expect us to follow all their orders and expectation and what not? Why does anyone even follow orders? I mean, we can all dictate what we do and don't do or say or think or whatever, we don't need or shouldn't need or shouldn't be expected to follow others orders. I mean, it's kinda' demeaning…why does Batman get to order us around?"

Dick doesn't miss a beat.

"Because he's Batman and you're _Kid_ Flash. He's got the experience and the right ideas and, no offense, but you lack some of the most notable and tactically important skills that Batman has. Also, innocent lives are usually at stake and people frown upon putting kid superheroes, who, mind them, risk their lives every day for others, in charge of others' lives, at least like how Batman and Superman and the Justice League are."

Wally gives him a sour look and reaches for some Doritos.

"Yeah well, I might not _think fast_ when it's important, but I'm capable of working things out in my head. I _can _think for myself! "

He tips the bag back and shakes the crumbs into his mouth, dragging his fingers over the insides to gather all the cheese on his fingers once it's completely empty. Dick cringes and tries to scowl, snatching the bag away and crumpling it. Wally lets out an indignant sound and his lips twitch into a grin.

"Honestly_, I_ couldn't tell."

Wally's eyes narrow dangerously as he sucks on his orange index finger. It takes him a minute to clean the rest of his fingers and as Wally licks the orange residue away, Dick turns his attention back to the sky where it had been prior to Wally's spur of the moment tale about the 'throes and woes of liking women, oh noes!'.

They're meeting in Gotham, right outside the towering wall of buildings in what Wally call's 'The Freedom Ring'. The sky is dark, a midnight blue, illuminated and brightened by the full moon, almost over shining the many twinkling stars that are scattered among the backdrop of blue. A canopy of thick cumulus clouds lie well below the moon, sectioning off the otherwise clear sky from the hazily illuminated skyline of Gotham, which they have their backs turned on.

A cool wind ripples through the air and Dick falls back with closed eyes as it soothes through his clothes and hair, rustling the leaves up above them. He hears Wally settle down next to him with an exhale and when he opens his eyes again, he gets glimpses of a falling star through the swaying leaves.

Dick smiles, at peace, but when Wally starts softly humming _Daniel_ he can't resist the laughter that suddenly bubbles up in his chest and peals out of his mouth. Wally turns to look at him and offers a goofy smile, his eyes shining with mirth as he switches from humming to singing aloud, and for some odd reason that Dick cannot fathom, he _can't stop laughing_. Soon his stomach hurts from the strain and he lays his arms over his abdomen, giggling and sighing with a smile.

He wonders why it feels so good to forget everything that he shouldn't, but at the moment, he can't bring himself to care, to elaborate, to ponder over it. Dick doesn't have in it him; the fire, the burning heat in his gut _(the feeling of being on edge all the time, the feeling of being so close to _snapping_)_, the tightly coiled restraint he has on _everything _in his life. It's never felt so good to just _let go_.

Over his diminishing laughter, Dick can hear the soothing, clear tone of Wally's tenor vocals and he relishes in the sound, treasures the fact that Wally has a very pleasing, comely voice and he stays on tune all the time, sticks with the rhythm and just sings with a pure, unique felicity; it's all Wally. Dick's eyes pick out the North Star and from there he goes about constructing the constellations, all to the neutral tune of Wally's calming voice.

They finish their night off like that; with Dick naming stars and constellations as Wally alternates between singing and humming old 70's and 80's songs that no one else would even think twice about without hearing again. It's around the time that Wally starts singing _Road to Nowhere_ that his voice grows weary, slow, and thin; the notes droop and fall flat before stopping all together and dick concludes Wally is asleep when a lone, drawn out snore sounds from the prone body next to him.

Dick suddenly feels lonely.

He checks the time and idly wonders how much trouble he would get in for being caught sneaking back into the manor at 10:09 p.m. on a school night, but since tonight is special, he's got an exception. Dick heaves a sigh and with a lingering look at the winking stars, pushes himself into a sitting position.

He glances around the desolate area and then finds himself gazing at a sleeping Wally, who looks so peaceful, sprawled unceremoniously on his back with limp arms spread out beside him. His lips are parted with every exhale and Dick lingers on the rise and fall of his wiry chest underneath the thin green t-shirt. His bright hair looks dull under the moonlight, but it's soft and pliant when he compulsively brushes a strand off of Wally's forehead. Dick wonders if Wally knows how handsome he is; how peaceful he looks when asleep.

He's been selfish lately, easily forgetting the troubles that must be plaguing Wally in the form of bruises and burns. This is the first time he's seen the older boy without marks for _over a week_ and it hits him, _hard_, when he thinks about the absence of real, in depth attention he's been paying to his best friend, the lack of retrospect he's recently kept for his health.

The signs are virtually nonexistent, only present, only seen _(only ever by him)_ in the marks peppering his arms or face or legs. Wally acts like himself, sounds like himself, eats like himself, _is_ himself and Dick starts to doubt the revelation that he had come to believe really exists outside of his minds manipulation, out in reality, but the physical signs are evident and sometimes Dick notices a quiet withdrawal from Wally; words with no voice, an action with no meaning, a look with nothing seen, but there is never a real verbal acknowledgment. He can't really do anything until there is _(but oh, how he wants to do something, because there can always be something done.)_

Wally shifts by his side and Dick's attention is diverted to the slumbering redhead, who stretches in such a luxurious, limber manner that the hem of his shirt rides up to reveal a thin strip of Wally's pale abdomen. Dick feels his face flush and he glances quickly away, all previous troubles dissipating from his mind at that smooth looking, unblemished strip of skin. He straightens his back and preoccupies his time with stargazing once again, hiding in the sanctuary of the sky, but his curiosity gets the best of him and with a quick internalized battle _("Come on Dick, do it. He'll _never _know, I bet this will be your only chance anyway- "But it's _wrong_, not _right_, an invasion of _privacy_-""Says the guy contemplating putting hidden cameras in Wally's room, only for the purpose of 'physical health and observational check ups'. More like check _outs_-""I'm so messed up…" "At least you embrace it" "Kudos to me then, because that's_ such_ a great thing to embrace" "Now you're getting it!")_ Dick sneaks a peak at the exposed skin.

It looks even smoother than he last remembered; the color an enticing peaches and cream medley that Dick thinks maybe should be riddled with freckles. The stripe of skin shows off the dip in Wally's prominent hip bones, the light, barely there start of a red happy trail leading right under the waist of Wally's jeans; Dick kind of wants to lick him right now.

He stops there. Turning away in self- loathing, Dick broods and curses to himself for a long moment, upbraiding the perverse thoughts that cross his mind once he takes another long look out of his peripheral. What would Wally say? What would he do if he found out that his _fourteen year old male best friend_ who fought crime beside the Young Justice _and _Batman had a gigantic, hopeless crush on him? Dick didn't even _want _to start doting on that topic, so instead he took a deep, calming breath, straightened himself out _(put back up all the barriers),_ gathered up their mess and placed it as neatly and quietly as he could in the back pocket of his knapsack.

When that was done, he turned back to Wally and placed a hand on his shoulder, shook him roughly to try and rouse him from his peaceful lassitude. Wally was very warm and not even plagued by signs of consciousness, only affected by his futile shake with a murmurous sigh and fingers twitching in the grass. Dick sighed. Instead of shaking him again, a viscous idea blossomed in his head and Dick leaned in close to his ear, smiling as he whispered in his best menacing Batman impersonation "_Kid Flash, why are you out past curfew,_ with Robin_, sleeping on the outskirts of_ my _city?"_

Wally jerks awake even before he's finished speaking, with a cry and flailing arms, zipping up on his feet in a movement so quick that has him reeling. Dick bursts out in laughter as Wally unsteadily wobbles around, apologizing to no one as he rubs his eyes and stifles yawns and begs to be spared lethal corporal punishment in the form of sparring with Black Canary, begs even more feverishly to not be fed to the carnivorous cave bats who occasionally swoop down and bite into his hair. Dick's own mirth drives him as Wally stops and relaxes his shoulders, looks around with one weary eye to find Dick crouched low on the field consumed by giggles.

He groans low in his throat and collapses, on his back again with his arms crossed over his eyes. Dick is still laughing, but he leans back and looks at the sky as Wally mumbles tiredly.

"Dude, that was _so_ not cool."

Dick cackles and nudges Wally who removes his arms to tiredly blink at him; his eyes are filmy and distant from sleep, his lashes steeped low on his cheeks. Dick gives him a small, smug grin which Wally eyes distrustfully.

"I know." Wally heaved another sigh and ran a hand through his messy hair, tucking some longer strands behind his ear.

"Like, I _swear _that was the most ineffable wake up call, _ever_. I'm gonna' need to get back at you _big time_ for that." His voice is deep and gravelly from sleep; Dick smiles despite himself as he corrects Wally.

"Ineffable- an adjective meaning unutterable, inexpressible. You might have used imbroglio- an altercation of a complicated situation; that certainly was unnecessarily loud and complicated. Insouciance- blithe nonchalance; that seemed a pretty enthusiastically casual wake up call on my behalf, if you ask me. Intolerable, insufferable, insupportable, any of those would have properly sufficed."

Wally gives him a blank look; blinks his misty, tired eyes.

"Dude, _what_? I didn't even understand _half _of that. Although I will say, that was kind of hot." Dick's head snaps over towards Wally, whose eyes are closed, arms crossed under his head like a pillow. Dick gives a big grin which Wally thankfully doesn't see.

"You are _incorrigible_, but I am fortunate to share such propinquity in our quintessential bucolic assemblage. Our mutual like of this circumferential demesne, as well as our mutual allurement concerning conversation, ameliorates my leisure. I dearly hope these loquacious meetings delight you as much as they do me. This one sided, insurmountable dalliance is what remains the cynosure of my fugacious, ineffable, desultory existence. "

Wally guffaws and gives him a sly look, quirking up one side of his lips once their eyes meet.

"You intellectual _show off_. " Dick's smile is bashful.

"That's me."

"You are _definitely _gonna be a playboy when you get older." Wally ends his sentence with a yawn and he pushes up into a sitting position again. With elbows resting against knees, Wally reaches up and ruffles his hair with a groan; face comically contorted into that of simple-minded bliss.

"What time is it?"

Dick checks his watch.

"10:42. We should both head home."

"Before the Bat starts to roam?" Wally cracks a grin at Dick's eye roll.

"Yeah. I'm expected to help B. patrol tonight and we've got a case concerning a Mafia boss, rogue smugglers, and the Joker." Dick sends a smile back to Wally who stands and dusts off his pants, offering a hand. Dick takes it gratefully; Wally's palm is warm and soft, his fingers calloused. "I'm whelmed."

"Only Batman's protégé would be." Dick shoulders the straps of his bag and rolls his head as Wally stretches, cat like; limber and lithe and lilting. His shirt rides up again and Dick averts his attention back to the stars. He feels bad that they're his second option, his backup for when he catches himself doing something he really shouldn't; like staring at Wally's exposed skin. Tonight really is a beautiful night; Wally really has nice skin.

"Do you want me to run you home?" Dick is caught off guard by the question and doesn't answer. Wally cracks his back and starts running circles around Dick until he stops in front of him on the seventh lap.

"It'll be quicker than grappling from roof to roof to… Batcave. Besides, I can hold you bridal style and totally embarrass you in front of Bats, maybe even trick him into thinking we were... _on a date_." The breezy smile and over emphasized wink go right over his head. Dick is not amused _(albeit slightly flustered inside)_ and he pushes past Wally to start venturing towards his bike.

"I'll pass. I have _better_, more refined means of transportation, compared to the smelly, big feet that belong to _you_." Wally hisses a breath in through his teeth and forcibly winces, bringing his hands up over his heart in a dramatic show of playing hurt as he walks backwards next to him.

"_Ouch_. I'm gonna need to apply some ice to that burn. But _hey_! Leave my radically quick feet alone!" He zips around so he's on his left side, facing the same way as him. They reach the curb in silence and Dick turns back to look over where that had previously been for hours. What he sees soothes the newly rough edges inside him; a grassy plain with lush trees strewn all over, illuminated by the bright moon that sits high in a clear sky. This has always secretly been one of his favorite spots _(not really secretly since Wally always suggests they come here on his behalf.) _Wally jitters around him, humming _Stayin' Alive_ and Dick smiles again _(something he notices is a frequency with Wally) _turns to find the older boy doing the same as he had; observing the scenery.

Their eyes meet a second later and Wally rocks on his heels, looking bashful and childish as he ruffles his hair and grins big.

"My offer still stands. An expense free trip that will be over before you know it. How could you ever deny such a wondrous thing?" Wally shakes out his hands as he bounces up and down. Dick merely raises an eyebrow.

"Easy, by saying no." Wally pretends to pout _("Aw, you never let me have any fun!" "What about that time I let you use my utility belt?" "Touche Boy Blunder, Touche") _but he yawns and relents, giving a tired wave.

"Alright, I guess I'll see ya' soon then. Good luck on your mission. G'night Dickie Bird!"

Wally's gone in a gust of wind.

Dick inhales and stares at the faint dust trail, mounts his bike and checks his watch; 10:54. He puts on his helmet, starts the bike, checks the time again; 10:55. His communicator beeps, static crackles to life in his ear.

Dick revs the engine and steps on the gas, building up a fast pace to carry him back into Gotham, trying not to linger on the thought of bright, halcyon smiles, unkempt red hair, and bruises and cuts on rosy skin.

"_Goodnight Wally."_

* * *

Notes:

I would like to apologize to all 11 reviewers, 11 followers, and the 6 of you who favorited. Alas, I have let you down. I fear this chapter was kind of..._meh_, compared to the last one, but what can I say? Things have gotten troublesome, I'm doing the best I can. Hopefully, I can say it won't be a week before the next update. I just got back from a trip and I've been packing and unpacking so my life's kind of helter-skelter at the moment.

I hope you guys enjoyed this. I'm dedicating this chapter to the 28 of you wonderful people~!

Until next time.


	3. The Solution

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily! Young Justice

**Author: **anonymously_miscellaneous

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, cannon, overall kind of a dark fic.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-I just love the idea of a formal, awkward Kaldur and kind, compassionate, firey Artemis, especially counter-balancing each other _(should I pair them up so no one's lonely?)._ Alright, here is the third chapter, after much delay _(my deepest, most sincere apologies.)_ I really need to get on this but it's my last week of school; during the summer (_outside of packing, saying goodbye, and moving)_ I'll be on this and anyone interested won't have to wait too long _(hopefully, I'm really bad at keeping promises and maintaining continuity on these types of things.) _Enjoy.-

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It was exactly one month and 13 days since Dick had seen any majorly suspicious marks on Wally. The fact that Wally healed extremely quickly didn't do _anything _to make him feel any better. It only helped Dick conjure up countless more bruises that had healed and left nothing but emotional, mental scarring; making him then think there weren't any more marks Dick had actually seen in person _(because they had all healed before his eyes could behold them)_, but Dick…knew abuse when he saw it.

After the first few weeks, everything seemed _fine_. Wally was himself, Dick was himself around Wally being himself, and everyone else went on as if nothing had ever happened _(considering they didn't know about the little confrontation in the locker room, it was understandable.)_

With a little bit of cameras installed here and there, _(and constant after curfew excursions)_, Dick could be sure that Wally wasn't hiding anything big behind the scene; limping, broken bones, internal bleeding, signs of pain, or serious injuries. It wasn't _creepy_ that sometimes Dick would catch a clip of Wally changing out of clothes and not look away. It wasn't even creepy that Dick had cameras set up in places available of catching someone in the vulnerable state of undress _(it really wasn't; besides, he never saw Wally in the nude.)_ Everything he was doing was for the greater good. It was all in benefit of a best friend. He had to be sure everything was OK…because Dick knew Wally and the Wally behind the mask.

The boy they all saw was clumsy, sometimes empty headed, overbearingly confident in his looks and charm, constantly put down and ridiculed but always 'happy', seemingly regardless of everything that happened, regardless of everything that could happen. That was all they seemed to _see_; all they seemed to _know_. The Wally that Wally _himself_ preferred.

That's all anyone ever saw, but not Dick. That right there, the bane of Wally's attitude and personality, was what told Dick something was off. From personal experience and reliable testimonies, he knew no one stayed happy forever, all the time. Unfortunately, no one was that lucky, even Wally _(especially Wally.)_

Coupled with "freak" meta powers, a difficult personal life, a shady back history, relationship troubles, and a maybe passive aggressive feel towards inner conflicts could definitely pose as a problem. Sometimes, it was hard to tell who Wally really was; a genuinely happy person? Someone completely opposite to the Wally they knew? A little bit of both? The line Dick had drawn separating each seemed to be blurring into one another, running parallel then perpendicular, then just as one. It was getting harder to tell and sometimes Dick often got the feeling Wally was hiding. But from what? From _who_? He was still trying to find that out.

On a nice day in Mount Justice, a weekly Monday group gathering was beginning. It became established a long time ago that students weren't the only ones who despised Mondays _(and Dick and Wally weren't the only ones who liked ritualistic meetings.)_

With M'gann, Conner _(and naturally, Wally wherever there was food)_ in the kitchen, burning in favor of cooking, it left Dick, Kaldur, and Artemis to set up the new Blue Ray HD DVD player to the T.V. set, which Dick did in no time, seeing as both Artemis and Kaldur weren't too technology savvy or much of a help. Artemis had her chin propped up on a fist, eyes bored as she idly watched Dick tamper with and connect several different wires. Kaldur stood off to his right, patiently standing by in case 'the television caught fire and required extinguishing' _(for someone who's elemental power correlates with water, Kaldur sure does have a lot of misfortunate encounters with fire.)_

Dick sighed as he hooked up the last of the wires, sniffing at the appealing, slightly burnt aroma coming from the kitchen. M'gann had improved her cooking exceptionally and every once and a while, Dick worked up the stomach _(and nerve)_ to try her food, although the thought of her first attempt at making jambalaya constantly has him hesitant and apprehensive around and about anything she cooks. Moving to stand, he glanced over at Kaldur, who stared distrustfully at the T.V., and rolled his eyes behind the sunglasses.

"I'm really whelmed by the amount of trust you put into my electronic skills, Kaldur." The Alteranian gave him a blank look before furrowing his brows with a frown. Artemis sighed and rolled her eyes as well when Kaldur started to bow, stopping himself and straightening as he spotted the smirk on his face, which Kaldur eyed warily.

"I did not doubt your skills and I will not doubt them, ever, Robin. We are a team and that requires us to-"

Artemis interrupted with a groan.

"Put our faith and trust in each other's hands as well as our lives, yadda, yadda, blah, blah. We _know_ Kaldur. I'm sure Rob is just as tired of hearing the trust speech as I am, hell, as we all are. Spare the details okay? Wait, even better, how about sparing us the _whole thing_?" Kaldur looked slightly put down and Artemis patted the seat cushion next to her with a small, narrow eyed smile. Kaldur sighed this time and Dick watched with a sort of contentment as Kaldur settled down next to Artemis. They were all warming up to each other and it was taking time, but surely enough, they were creating something like a family.

Just as Dick put in some old 80's movie, a loud feminine laugh echoed out into the living room and following it came a triad from the kitchen. Wally was hanging off of Conner's back, lightly burnt cookie hanging from his mouth as he chewed on it slowly, moaning and speaking around the treat. M'gann floated out behind them holding a tray of cookies, giggling at Conner's stoic face and the crumbs accumulating on his shoulder. Dick observed Wally as he mumbled and adjusted his grip on Conner when M'gann handed him the whole tray of cookies, going back into the kitchen to bring out more snacks and drinks after a _"Hello Megan!"_ moment.

"Mmm, _babe_, these cookies are _a-ma-zing_! I mean peanut butter, white chocolate, milk chocolate, _and _brownie batter all in one deliciously beautiful cookie? I think I just died and went to dessert heaven…" Wally called as he sent a pale eyed, half lidded gaze slowly around the team, eyes settling on Dick with a raised eyebrow. "Anyone going to have any…cause, uh, I'll have the whole tray if not…just sayin'." Dick gave a smirk and Artemis mumbled something inaudible under her breath with a barely there smile, earning a twitch of amusement from Conner's lips. Kaldur simply looked on with disbelief.

M'gann returned with floating plates and drinks and bowls of food which levitated over onto the coffee table. Kaldur grabbed a bottle of water for him and Artemis. Dick jumped over the stack of movies and swiped a can of soda as he claimed the single seat next to the couch with the best view. M'gann giggled and sat down on the end as Wally let go of Conner.

Once his feet dropped onto the ground, he almost doubled over, bracing a hand on his side and another on the couch to steady himself as the color quickly drained from his face and he practically started _wheezing_ for breath. Dick perked to attention, eyes narrowing in Wally's direction. He shifted, ready to jump into action.

"Thank you Wally! I'm so glad you enjoy the recipe. I was afraid to make it because there were new ingredients and…" As M'gann talked on about cooking tactics and a new egg beater, Wally chewed and swallowed the rest of his cookie, frowning uncharacteristically as he straightened on shaky legs. Conner sent Wally a look, asking with his eyes if he was OK. Wally just gave a curt nod, another one of those suddenly common unconvincing smiles, and sat down in between Kaldur and Conner. Dick watched him from the corner of his eye as he pressed a button on the remote and the movie previews started simultaneously with the dimming of lights and drawing of curtains. They all settled in minutes later with much vapid laughter and good food.

During the first few previews, Dick's mind started to wander. He thought about Wally, bruises and cuts, then evil, villainous scum, and missions, quickly followed up with Batman's weekly training regimen, plus the new Tai Chi, Capoeira, and projectile courses, which he still had to complete. By the time the movie started, Dick was happy to put his full attention on the screen, shuddering at the previous thought of all his tasks and chores _on top_ of his prestigious school work. Dick could do it, of course he could, but it was _the_ _action_ of completing it which made him internally groan. He was really way in over his head this week.

Half way through the second movie, which turns out to be so hilariously cheesy and predictable that both Wally and Artemis correctly guess the ending in the first five minutes, Dick's feeling worn out. He yawns and drinks from a can of Sprite as M'gann and Conner quietly talk and laugh to themselves. His body completely relaxes into the soft cushions a few minutes later and just as he's about to fall into a deep blissful calm _(which feels like he hasn't experienced in years)_ as the main protagonist gets chased around an abandoned mansion by a trigger-happy psycho killer, a scream and clatter jerk him up onto his feet, remote control in hand poised like a weapon, heart beating crazily.

There's hazy confusion for a moment before Dick realizes the sound came from the movie, more specifically, the wide eyed brother of the protagonist who has an axe sticking out of his head. His cheeks heat as Wally guffaw's at him while M'gann and Artemis giggle and he hastily settles again, thankful for the blanket of dark that hides his face. Conner cracks a grin and even Kaldur _(the traitor)_ has the gall to look amused.

He keeps his eyes glued to the screen, trying to lessen his embarrassment, but he's quickly pulled into a critical evaluation and judgment of the protagonist's horrible attempts of self-defense once his shoulders lose their tension. At one point, he even absently comments aloud on the improper placement of feet in the badly attempted wrestling the girl and psycho killer engage in.

"Oh come _on_. If she only placed her feet a little further apart and centered herself, she could have ended his rampage _ages_ ago."

Through the screaming and suspenseful music, and mouthfuls of food, Wally questions him and his logic. He explains the move where all she has to do is grab onto his waist, spread her feet, bend her knees, and use the balance and leverage the position gave her to flip him back and over, onto his shoulders and neck, possibly knocking him out from the force.

Wally refuses to believe the skinny bombshell _("Hey, don't be such an insensitive jerk Wally…she has nice hair…")_ could pull off such a move and then they go into a back and forth debate about why it is and isn't possible. Eventually, M'gann and Kaldur, though more from confusion of not seeing the ethics behind the move rather than not believing she could do it, join Wally's inaccurate rebuttal and Artemis and Conner side with him.

They discuss that until the movie is over and the girl, along with every other overly-dramatic character is dead, coming to a well thought out _(and humorous)_ group conclusion of "because the girl lacked intellectual IQ and knowledge of self-defense when under attack, the move would not have been possible for her to execute, only because of her absence of information on that subject but if she were to know how to use her body in such a situation, she would have had a good chance of being successful in pulling off the move to maneuver herself into an advantage against the killer."

Its 4:30 when they start on the third movie, _Friday the 13th_, and M'gann has her head lying on Conner's right shoulder with their arms intertwined while Wally is occupying his left side and doing a similar position (which Conner repeatedly tries to shake off). Artemis's legs are over Kaldur's lap, feet resting in Wally's and when Kaldur and Conner try to goad Dick into switching spots, he gives a nasty grin and cackles as Wally yawns and reaches for the bowl of popcorn, which he will undoubtedly spill all over himself, Conner, Kaldur and Artemis's feet.

Once again, they fall into a peaceful kind of silence that is only interrupted by Wally's shrieks of "OH. MY. GOD. _Don't_ go into the closet gah-why you _stupid what are you doing wha_- oh no stop no NO" and bi-polar mumbling, which Dick can only assume is similar to the silent berating he is giving to every characters cliché mistakes.

They plow through that movie and then another one, and another. All the food is gone _(courtesy of a very hungry boy more than willing to eat for five others)_ and everyone has drifted off into sleep at least once. No one objects when Dick pops in another movie, _The Matrix_, because this is _nice_. They never get to relax and hang out and have fun and although watching movies until 10:00 at night isn't all that eventful, the company is what they're all staying for; the warmth of another person pressed against them, the feel of a clammy hand brushing against theirs reaching for food _(which is no longer there)_, the smiles and laughs in between scenes and the enjoyment of being a _teenager_ again.

After the end credits start rolling across the screen, Kaldur calls it a night and they somewhat agree, although tiredly, that sleep would be best.

"I have enjoyed this week's movie night just as I did the last. I am glad that we are granted such a reprieve. May we keep this up religiously until it becomes a tradition." Kaldur's smile is surprising and Artemis gets up with a cat like stretch and bumps her hip fondly against Kaldur's own.

"Sure thing fish-boy. And frankly, you don't need to say that. I know were all thinking it." M'gann giggles suddenly and Dick turns with Kaldur and Artemis to see a pouty Conner frowning down at a slumbering Wally sprawled along his side. M'gann hovers over the back of the couch, squealing and holding her clasped hands to her heart, cooing and going on about how it reminds her of a traditional Martian mating ritual long ago abandoned.

"Yeah, and I'm sure Wally's _dreaming _it too." Conner growls out as Wally opens his mouth to give a loud snore, all the while burrowing unconsciously further into Superboy's side as he squeezes a pillow. His pale cheeks are flushed pink and his lashes flutter in little twitches, casting smudges of charcoal shadows onto his ruddy skin. Kaldur raises an eyebrow and Artemis face palms with a head shake. Dick suppresses a smile as he whips out his phone, snapping a quick picture of the duo. Wally looks too cute _(then again, when doesn't he?)_

"Smile for the camera _Supey_." Conner's futile glare and grab towards him only earn a snicker from Dick. Kaldur helps assist M'gann in leading the empty bowls and crushed soda cans into the kitchen, while Artemis stalks over to his previous seat and curls up in it, eyes watching them tiredly. Conner shifts uncomfortably in his seat and the movement causes Wally's arm to slip around Conner's waist; his leg drapes itself precariously over his knee and Dick resists not laughing at the panicked look on Superboy's usually apathetic face. He squares his jaw and pokes Wally in the cheek but Wally's brows furrow and he swats at empty air, mumbling something about '60 more minutes'.

"Um, Wally. Wake up…please?" The mirth on his face seems contagious to M'gann who peeks her head out of the kitchen to see why no one else is helping. Dick shakes his head with a smile and leans against the side of the couch with arms crossed, trying so hard not to laugh at the drool mark on the pillow clutched close to Wally's chest. Conner pokes him again and gives him a mild shake. It's useless.

"You're not going to wake him up like _that_. Elbow him. _Hard_ and if that doesn't work, we're going to need a bucket of water and some chicken wheezies."

Dick knows Wally. He knows how to wake him up. It's only natural. They're best friends. They know everything about each other…Dick's mind blanks as he suddenly thinks of the inaccuracy of the statement.

_Is that really true?_

Conner's looking embarrassed and annoyed and tired; he shifts to deliver a seemingly harmless, innocent elbow blow to Wally's side but this is Wally, and Wally is close to Dick, a special someone who is important in his life so of course, it's only fitting that something is going to go wrong; it's only fitting that he will get hurt sooner or later because of Dick and...it goes downhill from there, form that harmless, innocent move when Wally starts screaming.

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Feel free to point out any mistakes, flaws, errors, typos.

I'm new to this.

It's been a while since I posted anything publicly and I'm trying my best to write and edit and all that. I should be uploading within the same time lines as the previous chapter; within a week of the last (I'm cutting it really close, aren't I?) I'll try harder. Once again, enjoy.


	4. The Accident

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle (actually, not so subtle) brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily!Young Justice

**Author: **anonymously_miscellaneous

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, canon, overall kind of a dark fic

**Disclaime**r: I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-Well. I feel horrible. I don't even think I have the right to be forgiven. I lied about the time it would take me to write the chapter, edit it, and put it up. I do have an excuse though. I have been uprooted and shipped off to a cold, tweaker city where there is an abandoned basketball in the front yard of our house, leading me to believe it is the lone, haunted toy of Jimmy Branovitz, who went into the woods one time, and never came back out. I live right on the city outskirts and we're surrounded by unfriendly neighbors and forest. Since I'm basically free until summer is over (oh look, that's a lie. I'm going to be gone in a few weeks. Sorry), I actually will be spending more time on writing and getting things like this done. Posting and writing and editing will be in the top five list of things I need to hop to this summer. I'm so sorry, once again, for this taking so long. I have no self control and that is a very bad thing. This chapter...ouch. It sat on my laptop for a while, down in the taskbar and I kept going back to it, editing it, adding to it, and this version will probably be as happy as I'm gonna' get with it. I'm done ranting now. I hope everyone had a nice fourth of July~! Enjoy.-

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The first time it happened, it had been an_ accident_. A careless, reckless, un-checked impulse that his father went and completed with abandon; it was simply an instinct that had been instilled within Rudolph from his own father, a childish temper tantrum that had to be carried through. He couldn't have helped it and now that Wally looked back on it, he shouldn't have been so passive when it came to that topic _(just as his father shouldn't have been)_, not when the urges and the anger and the spiteful resentment was eating away at him inside, not when it was changing Rudolph into a _monster (or maybe it was just eroding away at the mask, showing them what lay behind it; maybe they were just starting to see the monster behind the man.)_

Not when it was changing Wally into a skittish, anxious coward; a _victim_.

They had been home, alone, around four o'clock. Wally was lounging on the couch, a hand greedily stuffed in a bag of chips, when his dad came in and Wally greeted him normally, like he always did _(because nothing was different) _with a smile and a verbal salutation.

"Hello Daddy-o, how was work?" Wally had never been shy, especially not around his parents _(except for when they brought out the scrapbook, full of embarrassing baby pictures that got worse and worse with every turn of a page)_ although if there were ever a person to shy away from, it would be Rudolph.

Imposing and broad shouldered in appearance, he could be a menacing man to behold_ (and often was to outsiders.)_ The only thing Wally would assuredly inherit from his father was his staggering height _(and possibly some of the burliness of his build)_, not the brutish set of his face, the hard planes of his eyebrows and mouth, the stern iciness that seemed to linger in his gaze _(Wally would never admit it aloud, but he was glad about that; he liked having his mother's softer, handsome looks-even though he appreciated his physique and height equally as much-.)_

Rudolph West was a good man; faithful and quiet, compassionate in his own way, but he was hot tempered and easily a very competitive man and both were some of the most noticeably weak traits that he possessed. They were only a few of his many flaws.

Stepping through the door, he had turned to close it quietly, ignoring Wally on the couch in favor of making a bee-line for the kitchen. Wally blinked upside down at his back and spoke through a mouthful of chips.

"You alright Dad?"

He saw his father's profile turn slightly his way, noticed a deep frown etched on the man's face, gazed at the odd white and grey dappled at his father's temples, lingered on the many wrinkles littering his rugged face. Wally sat up slowly and swallowed his mouthful, winced at the dig of sharp edged chips into his esophagus.

His father had never looked so old before.

"…Dad?" Wally got up and heard a sigh, deep and rumbling, frustrated. He spoke lowly as he reached for the alcohol cabinet. Wally stopped at a standstill where he was.

"I'm fine son. Just a rough day is all." But he was reaching for a_ tall_ glass, curling his beefy hand around the full bottle of Knob Creek and his voice was clipped, gruff. Wally shifted back, uncomfortable.

It's not that he'd never seen his parents drunk before or viewed them drinking in general, but they did it responsibly, handed Wally the car key's and told him to hide them '_just in case_' as they both monitored each other's drinking.

The worst it had ever gotten to was his father passed out on the couch, his mother in the bedroom, and Wally making breakfast in bed for both his parents _(whose hangovers were supposedly "horribly unpleasant and atrocious, that's why drinking is bad, son".)_

Clearing his throat, Wally tentatively ventured forward and slid into the chair opposite of the one his father was nearest. "Care to, uh, talk about it?" His voice edged up hopefully at the end of his sentence and he was suddenly reminded of why he was a Momma's boy, emotive instead of apathetic.

Rudolph laughed a humorless, hard thing that made Wally sink down low into his chair. "No. I'd rather forget it happened at all. Call you mother. Ask her what's for dinner."

Wally was suddenly defiant and frowned, cracking a dismissive joke like the rebellious teenager that he was _(is)_. "You've got a mouth that works just fine, although I'm not too sure bout' the whole hearing thing. Why don't' you, old man?" The glass bottle in his father's hand slammed down onto the counter and Wally jerked to his feet fast, had to catch the chair before it clattered sideways to the floor. He was surprised the glass didn't shatter.

"Because I asked _you_ to. Now do as I say." His voice was even deeper than before, riddled with vehemence and Wally frowned again, looked down at his feet nervously. His heart was pounding and his father hadn't raised his voice like_ that_ in what seemed _years_. Wally shuddered.

"Yes sir." He'd turned away, gratefully made an exit from the kitchen _(trying his best to be subtly quick about it)_ when his father sighed again and his voice was normal when he spoke, regretful.

"I'm sorry Wally. It's just been…today's been real bad. I'll call your mother, don't worry about it son." Rudolph turned around to give a small, apologetic smile _(which was lined with frown marks)_ and everything was suddenly OK. His father's eyes were uncharacteristically warm _(maybe room temperature)_. Wally gave a tentative smile in return and nodded his head.

"It's fine. We've all got our crap days Dad. Just, uh, go easy on the alcohol please, sir." He tagged on the sign of respect quickly and his father was still smiling, nodding as he poured a small amount of liquor into the big glass. "Alright son. I didn't mean to bother you. Go back to whatever it was you were doing."

Wally cast a guilty look towards the wrinkled chip bag and crumb infested couch cushions, chuckling nervously as he zipped over and swiped them away, stuffed the bag in his back pocket and reappeared before his father. "Actually, I was just about to go upstairs and finish some Pre Calc. homework, ya' know, solve some exponents, add some numbers, subtract some variables to get…answers …catch ya later!"

Wally was gone before he could watch his father down the little morsel of alcohol and pour some more.

* * *

It was a crash that brought him downstairs, a shattering and cursing and tinkling, accompanied with more swearing and copious amounts of loud fumbling. It was also 5:23, precisely seven minutes until his mother got home. Wally zipped downstairs and through the house_ (Where was his dad?)_, finding the source of the noise in the kitchen, having come from his father carelessly dropping a glass.

The man in question was crouched low over the broken glass, cursing like a sailor as his fingers grabbed and scrabbled at the shards. Wally made a sound of objection and sped to the broom, grabbed his dad's shoulder to pull him up roughly.

"Dad, what the hell are you doing? You're gonna get all cut up! Use the broom!"

Rudolph stumbled and staggered and only when his father's heavily stained alcohol breath fanned over Wally's left cheek and a punch broke across his right one, sloppy and painful _(how come he didn't see it coming?)_, did he notice the bottle of alcohol from earlier, once full, now nearly empty, lying prone on the counter. His voice was suddenly deafening, a badly wrecked, slurred roar.

_"Don't you _dare_ tell me what to do!"_

Wally staggered for balance, not because the blow was forceful, not because it was remotely powerful, or even seriously painful_ (he'd been dealt_ much _worse)_; Wally started to fall, _shocked_ more than anything, when reflexes belatedly kicked in and sent his arms pin wheeling behind him in a vain attempt to catch onto something, anything _(nothing)_ to keep from hitting the ground _(later that night, he had laughed dryly at a runaway thought; all his training and preparation and hard work to get out of those exact types of situations had gone to_ waste_.)_

It felt like he was falling forever _(which was a damn long time for a speedster) _and in startling clarity he could see his father looming over him as he fell, when he hit the ground hard and sliced his hand on a stray piece of glass; his eyes were hazy, clouded and red, wide with rage; the usual tight lipped line that was his mouth had been drawn back to reveal bared, yellowing teeth, bloodless lips pulled taught around them; all the wrinkles on his ruddy face were suddenly gone and the usually noticeable white and gray of his age was outmatched by the vivid red of his unruly hair, spilling over his sweaty, raised brows.

_This was his father._

He had never looked so _young_ before. Wally had never seen him look so powerful and strong and terrifying and frightening and utterly horrendous before. He'd never looked so eerily _real_.

When his father's horrifying face, slowly, hazily, contorted into one of disbelief and regret_ (the second kind Wally had come into contact with that day)_ the ache hit him like a lightning bolt and he sucked in a breath, blinked up at his dad as he stepped back and groaned into his palm, had to turn away and lean against the nearest surface as his arm shook.

Wally blinked again and he felt a building panic start to jump around in his chest, a quiet desperation, a dawning realization that crept upon him fiercely and mercilessly; his hand _(his_ bloody_ hand)_ shakily went to his swelling cheek, his aching jaw.

_How come he hadn't seen it coming?_

"Dad?" His voice was so damn unsteady, confused, and Wally's breathing was _harsh_. An unbelievable pain was swelling up inside of him and all of it centered on the ache in his cheek and jaw, red and hot and swollen and livid, oh so angry _(it's all about being angry, all about anger.) _A million things were speeding though his head at once and he was dizzy but only one thought came into perspective, came into stellar clarity; _Dad just hit me._

Rudolph was speaking a second after Wally realized what just happened; his speech was still badly slurred. "Wally, son, I…I'm sorry my boy. I didn' mean to-it was an accident son. An accident. I'd never-I'd never hit you." Wally swallowed and pushed off the ground with his free hand, didn't look at his dad-the drunk man who _hit_ him- took a step away and spoke lowly, calmly _(oh no, not calmly. He was freaking out on the inside)._

"But you just did."

Suddenly, the sound of keys in the front door lock broke though the confusion and the betrayal and Wally looked up, wide eyed and afraid_ (still holding his red cheek-both from blood and the force of fist upon flesh-)_ as if he were a little kid again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner.

_As if_ he _would get in trouble._

Rudolph took a step towards him, over the broken glass, and Wally didn't _quite flinch_ as the stench of alcohol invaded his space and rough, big hands grabbed painfully tight onto his shoulders. He was shaken around some, none too gently, and his father was persistent in getting his attention _(he didn't_ want _to look at the man, he_ _didn't _want _to look, but he did)_ and when their eyes met, his father was old again, shaken up, afraid, uncertain,_ scared _and Wally didn't hate him anymore like he did just a split second ago _(he couldn't)_, because there were honest to God _tears_ in his father's eyes and he was just as shocked as Wally was.

"Don't tell your mother. Please son, I'm sorry, God'm so sorry, but please don' mention this to Mary. She'll never-she'll-it'll break'r heart son, to know that in my drunken stupidity I _hurt_ you. M'so sorry." And he looked earnest _(but he_ sounded _drunk, looked it as well)._

Wally believed him, believed it was an accident and he didn't mean for it to happen, because it was his_ father_ and he was _drunk (people did stupid things when they were drunk-then again, people tended to do things they wouldn't sober, things they_ wished _to do when sober.)_

Nodding numbly, eyes jumping to the drying smear of blood on the floor, the broken glass, the almost empty Knob Creek bottle, Wally suddenly clenched his eye shut. His cheek throbbed in protest.

He was shaken again, pushed harshly towards the laundry room as the front door opened and his mother's sweet, joyous voice called out to them, "I'm home! Where are my two favorite men?" Something inside Wally shifted at that and he was about to call out for some reason _(like he always had because why should an accident change so much?)_ when his father roughly pushed him again, voice gravelly and nasty.

"_Go_. I'll fix this God dammit. I'll clean up, bandage yer' hand I'll-don't tell yer' mother son, just…don't, please, I'll-,"and then the door joining the kitchen and laundry room was slammed in his face. He saw his father's silhouette through the filmy white curtain, hurriedly crouching and wiping away the blood, heard his mother entering through the living room, heels clicking briskly over the tile, slowing once they took in the battered scene.

"Rudy…," She sounded uncertain and disapproving, her figure cutting a petite shape next to his father's bulking mass on the floor. Wally was still there, right behind the door, fighting off a staggering panic _(his lungs felt full, his heart oddly empty)_ and serious quakes _(not vibrations)_ as his mother walked slowly around the kitchen, surveying the scene. She leaned down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder _(fearless next to the monster; beauty next to the beast.)_

_Stop it,_ he chastised himself sharply, sucking in a silent, quivering breath. _Stop it; it was just an accident; that's your_ father_, not some evil monster in a child's story._

"What's going on Rudolph? I thought we'd talked about this. You can't just come home and drink a whole bottle of alcohol, especially when you're home alone with _Wally_." His father murmured something deep and indistinct and suddenly his mother's figure straightened.

"Where is Wally?" He tried not to make a sound as he took a step back, ignoring the pun that used to be his _childhood_. His mother asked again, louder, more firm _(always strong and resilient) _and he wanted to make a mad dash for the stairs, but he was_ frozen._

For the first time in his life, the speedster, Kid Flash, the forever mobile man, was scared _still. How ironic,_ he angrily thought. _How_ fitting. _It's all_ your_ fault._

"Rudolph, where's Wally?" When his father spoke again, Wally could understand his grumbling garble, however badly slurred.

"Upstairs. Doin' homework er' something." She stepped back and sighed, disappointed, turned to look at the mess on the floor again before shifting back. She was suddenly facing the direction of the laundry room and her figure took a step closer.

"Wally?" Her voice was quiet and sweet again, a mother's voice meant to comfort her child, and Wally bit his lip, cast his eyes around, looked at anything but the approaching figure of his mother _(his dirty basket of clothes, the laundry detergent, the LG logo on the washer, the mismatching Maytag logo on the dryer)._

_It's not working_, he thought erratically as his heart picked up its pace in his chest and he was _definitely not_ comforted as she took a step closer._It's not working; why not?_

Behind his mother, he saw his father heavily struggling to get up, staggering again once he reached his full height.

"Wally, honey?

_Behind you_, he wanted to yell out as her hand touched the knob and his father stepped closer, _menacingly_ closer. His heartbeat was one steady uninterrupted pulse and at the moment Wally threw away every withstanding nice thought about his father. _The monster is __behind you__._

_Stop it, STOP IT. It was an accident. That's. Your. Father. The man that hit you._

Wally was gone before she even turned the door knob, upstairs in his bedroom with the wood door cool against his back. He heard her mumble something, muted by the floor between them; she called his name again, louder. "Wally?" But he was already in his bathroom, scrubbing at the blood on his cheek and wiping at his eyes _(too damn wide.)_ Scrabbling for a medical kit, he fumbled with the gauze and started fervently wrapping up the shallow cut on his palm as his mother quickly ascended the stairs.

Observing his cheek, Wally poked shakily at the split skin, swiped at the sluggishly bleeding wound_ (caused by his father's _wedding ring_)_ and a cringe marred his pale face in the mirror; he vainly stuck a band aid over it and clenched his fists, feeling the warm tingling sensation that usually meant his injuries were healing center around his fresh wounds.

He surely wouldn't heal before his mother came upstairs, but by tomorrow night, or the day after- at latest- he should be injury free_ (or at least cut free; bruises tended to last longer for some reason. It didn't matter; the emotional pain always faded the slowest.)_

Wally had already combed his hair, thrown on a jacket, put his hand in his pocket, turned on the TV, and practiced five different unconvincing smiles in the mirror before she knocked.

"Wally, honey, you in there?" Silently clearing his throat and shaking out the lingering quakes in his hands and legs _(he could do this, he could _do this._ Everything would be fine, it was an_ accident_),_ he replied, thankful for the reedy steadiness of his voice.

"Yeah mom, come on in. When did you get home?" She found him sitting cross legged by the headboard of his bed, remote control for the TV in hand. Her smile was soft as she settled down on the edge of his bed, patted his arm affectionately. He blinked at her.

"Oh, just a few minutes ago actually. Did you not hear me calling?" Shaking his head no, he kept his gaze straight, hoping he wouldn't have to turn his head to look at her; what would she say about his cheek? It was still smarting and it dully throbbed as if to remind him of its presence. His grip on the remote tightened and his jaw creaked and popped when he ground his teeth together _(the gash on his hand stung and flared.)_

"Alright then. Did you finish your homework?" As he flipped through the channels idly, Wally nodded.

"Yup. It sure wasn't easy though. I mean, what's the point of adding the alphabet into already confusing _math_ equations?" His mother ruffled his freshly combed hair and laughed fondly.

"Even I'm afraid I can't answer that, Wally. We're going to have Chicken Parm for dinner. I brought home two loaves of French bread and a box of extra noodles, just for you." He gave a thin smile _(tried his best to quell the shakiness and bitterness he was sure would be present) _and thanked her. Out of his peripheral vision, Wally noticed her smile dull some.

"Are you alright, Wally? You look paler than usual." He nodded again, aimed for a more convincing smile and asked when dinner would be ready; he was starving. She laughed.

"In about 45 minutes, think you can tough it out?" He forced an overly dramatic sigh and groaned, said 'yes'. She smiled again and Wally_ loved her_ but he really wanted to be alone right now. He_ needed_ to think. He _had_ to think. He _needed_ to sort things out. He _had_ to sort things out. Everything was still muddled and it felt like…like everything had just happened _(but it had, hadn't it? One disadvantage of being connected to the Speed Force; time becomes wack.)_

"I'll call you down once it's done, okay? I don't think your father will be eating with us but you and I can have a nice dinner to ourselves, how about it?" Wally gave a blank smile at that and settled for _Terminator 2: Judgment Day_ as he nodded again, a silent affirmative. Sighing, his mother got up, but paused to speak fondly down at him. She really looked lovely when she smiled.

"I love you, Wally." She leaned down and grasped his cheeks in the palms of her soft hands, kissed his forehead; Wally hissed and jerked away. She stepped back and frowned, aging lines etching deeper into her face, eyes filled with concern _(he hated to be the one to cause it all.)_

"Oh…" Her nimble fingers were tilting his head to the side and she frowned deeper, sighed though her teeth before the pads of her fingers caressed lightly over the heated skin on his inflamed right cheek, rubbed along the edge of the band aid. She groaned along with him.

"Ouch, _Wally_, what happened? Did you get this defending people from some big ol' baddie trying to terrorize the world?" She dropped a tender, feather light kiss right above the red splotch before he could object, before he could tell her it was from the big ol' baddie she was _married to(before he could remind her that he hadn't been to Mount Justice in three days-because of school work and a hiatus, assigned personally to him by Batman- and that he somehow always managed to stay away from trouble when out of costume)_, but then he bit his tongue and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

_It was an accident._

"Yeah," he rasped, "I'm OK though. The maniac hit like a _girl_, no offense mom." But she only laughed and sighed again as she eyed his cheek distastefully.

"You make me proud, Wally. What you do is very honorable and noble. I'm glad to have such a great, worthy boy to call my son and I know for a fact your father is just as proud too." His eyes were trained on the TV but he just laughed quietly with her and thanked her again, feeling that hopeful part inside of him shrink a little bit at the large, pleasant, oblivious smile that was plastered on his mother's face; her eyes were decidedly _degrees_ warmer than his father's cold uncaring ones.

_But it was just an accident; it wouldn't happen again. Accidents didn't accidentally happen again. It __wouldn't__. __Happen__ .__Again._

Somewhere downstairs a door slammed shut and Wally tried to smile just as big right back _(but his cheek hurt too much to do so.)_

It was on the night he first got hit that Wally was exposed to the truth; the truth of Rudolph West_ (the man he vainly called his father)_. It was on that night that things progressively started going downhill and everything took a turn for the worst, but it was the night someone found out that rendered him completely and utterly hopeless.

The beating didn't do that; the disappointment and anger and lack of control, the pain and hurt and anxiety and discomfort and _begging_ didn't do that.

What crushed him was the fact that someone finally, _finally_, knew, but did nothing to stop it. What broke him was the fact that someone could have helped, but turned a blind eye and _helped_ everything get worse in the long run _(that was possible, Wally discovered. If there's one thing he's learned, it's that there's always room for more bad and hurt and betrayal. There's always more room for pain.)_

* * *

Uh. Sorry.

So many words _(so many italicized words.)_

So little time.

I tried, and therefore, I shall not be judged.

So as it turns out, Wally childhood abuse is not canon.

Wally only ever got hit in the comics, by his father, twice (thrice, if you count the swat on the butt, or maybe just once if you count the dreamscape Gargoyle panel and deem it a false play-up on Wally's insecurities, not him reliving a memory ). Wally lived a normal, troubled, mundane life with his parents and although he was socked by his own flesh and blood those two (one) time(s), his father was never abusive continuously or really at all.

Wally whumpage is my headcanon (and only one of many Wally headcanon's.)

By the way, I wouldn't mind having a beta/editor.  
How do I ask for one? Does someone just volunteer if they're interested and I'm in need of one? I don't know :[


	5. The Obvious

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle (actually, not so subtle) brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily! Young Justice

**Author:** anonymously_miscellaneous

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, cannon, overall kind of a dark fic.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-Ok. It's official. I am horrible and I deserve none of the attention and kindness that is being directed towards this story. I have failed every one of you and I probably will again because wow you cannot trust my word and neither can I. I'm so sorry and I always will be, but I love all you wonderfully devoted readers regardless T3T Without a doubt, I am 100% sure I will die from this story because does anyone here have a tumblr? Yeah, I do, and it is the worst, most addicting, single handedly distracting thing I've ever crossed paths with, hands down, since NGE (and Kawoshin :3 All I do is scroll though my dashboard and procrastinate and think 'I should really start to write and edit my chapters' and guess what happens. Just guess. I sincerely hope none of you expect me to consistently update, because I'm me, and I apologize about that, again. This story won't go unfinished and I will work on new chapters and such. I expect it to take a while, but with the help of my beta, the amazingly amazing immer wenn es dunkel wird, I suspect this will take shorter to finish than I had previously anticipated. She's pretty darn awesome and you can find her here on FF by clicking on her username above, or searching her yourself (whichever you please.) So this chapter goes out to her and to the 28 reviewers, 37 favourites, and 52 followers~! Thanks so much you wonderful people~! Enjoy.-

P.S.- Conner has the ability to use his X-ray vision without the Shield patches, because I thought he already had the power without them, but alas, I was wrong (in this story, I'm not though.) Just overlook that little modification and go with it please.

* * *

Wally jerks up, a red and green blur, with a chilling yell, eyes wide and pained and crazed and confused as he hacks and chokes suddenly, shuddering and seizing into being bent over the coffee table. Foamy blood splatters onto the pan in front of him, onto his fist and arm. M'gann and Kaldur come racing out of the kitchen and Conner is on his feet, looking panicked and horrified as Wally moans and his _blood red painted lips_ contort into a shocked 'O' shape. His quivering hands rest on his rib cage and he gasps for breath, whining and making pathetic little wheezing sounds in the back of his throat as he falls over on his side, tears welling in his clenched eyes. Dick's paralyzed with fear.

_What just happened?_

Conner starts forward and he's about to reach out and touch him, help him-_harm him_- and then it clicks. He's angry, pissed, _livid- because Conner just_- and he tackles him to the floor with a roar of outrage before he can so much as touch-_harm, break, maim,_-Wally again. He had been doing so _good_.

_"What did you do?"_ He's straddling Conner with his shoulders pinned down to the floor and he can so easily break out of his weak shaky grasp but Dick feels so powerful right now, so strong, strung out and high on the quick adrenaline rush as Conner shakes his head and seems to plead with his wide, horrified eyes. M'gann is yelling for help and Artemis is fervently, quietly asking Wally what's wrong, over his hectic breaths, questioning what happened, where Conner_ hurt him_-

_"What the hell did you_ do _to him Conner?!_" Dick gets no answer _(just a wide eyed look and a uselessly gaping mouth)_ and he's still not sure what's happened. All he knows is Wally is pale, a bloodless pallor, but the blood on his chin and lips looks so _bright_. He's heaving shuddering, rattling breaths and once he coughs again, jerks up as blood splatters onto Artemis face, Dick has to look away, feeling his stomach clench

Wally's normally light eyes look so hazy and they're unfocused as Artemis swipes off the blood and rubs it viciously onto her jeans, taking a hold of Wally's shoulders with shaky hands a minute later and gently pushing him back to lay on his side, eyes as wide and shocked as his.

Kaldur appears suddenly with a towel, water, and an emergency kit _(and Dick wonders what can he_ do _with it)_ dropping to his knees next to Artemis as he asks _her_ what happened and she just shakes her head, looks at him and then back at Wally. M'gann is still screaming frantically for help over the soft murmur of Artemis and the heaves and chokes coming from Wally. He tries to say something but all that comes out is a frenzied cluster of indistinct words and a _wet gurgle._

Conner says something then and Dick turns his attention back to him, glaring viciously at the wide eyed clone boy on the floor. Dick shakes him a little_ (he can't really be sure if it's just his own trembling reverberating through Conner)_ and asks him what he said, what he _did._

_What's going on._

"What! What did you _do _Conner?" He seems to snap out of his stupor at the harsh, accusatory words and he's pushing Dick off of him, growling as his back collides with the chair. Dick's head bangs painfully against the arm rest but he doesn't care because _Wally can't breathe-he's choking on, coughing up blood –too much blood-my God why why why._

"I didn't do _anything_! I did like you asked but I _controlled _my strength I didn't-," he breaks off to turn towards Wally with a desperate, sorry look. Dick's hit by an idea and is up and by his side in an instant, hand gripping hard on Conner's arm. They both stare down at Wally, who has seemingly lost consciousness and jerks with repressed coughs; his closed lips are lined with blood. Kaldur props up his head and Artemis has her ear resting on his chest, surveying his shallow, _moist_ gasps.

"X-ray vision, _now_. What's wrong." Conner gives him a long, blank look and he's angry again. Dick yells, voice a heavy growl.

"Use your x-ray vision to tell us what the _hell_ is wrong with him!" Conner doesn't acknowledge him, just snaps his head towards Wally-_limp, pale, sweaty, bloody Wally -_ and stares at him hard, the contours of his neck tightening into bulky muscles and thick veins. Dick's eyes keep darting between Conner and Wally, his feet jittering, hands shaking, tongue snaking out to swipe at his lips in the heat of trepidation. He's itching to go over to Wally, to comfort him somehow, but he can't bring himself to move. Wally looks fragile, breakable.

_Broken._

Conner suddenly goes pale as well, and he blinks, looking confused for the lot of them and just as he's about to turn and tell Dick what his condition is, Black Canary, Flash, Red Tornado, and Batman come sweeping into the room, followed closely by Superman.

The Flash is by Wally's side in a flash, his expression blurring between panic and horror as he murmurs and mutters lowly to the still figure, hands hovering and fluttering uselessly over his body. Artemis is gently moved out of the way by Black Canary, who guides her towards a suddenly recluse M'gann. They clutch onto each other and M'gann starts weeping but Artemis stays tight jawed and blank faced, a faint smudge of red on her cheek. Kaldur, Batman, Red Tornado and Superman talk in hushed, quick voices and a collective, accusatory glance is sent towards Conner _(he can't blame them and he can't defend Conner; not until he knows what the hell is going on.)_

Dick's throat closes up and he tries not to make a noise of objection as Wally is obscured from his vision by backs and bodies; he keeps thinking about his parents_-he took his eyes off of them for_ one second _and when he looked again they were_ dead-

He suddenly pushes through the throng of people and his breath is harsh in his ears. Batman reaches across the side of the couch and, probably to hold him back, tries to place a heavy palm on his arm but he ducks away, kneels down and places a careful, hesitant hand on Wally's shoulder. The contact is a relief, no matter the feverishly hot feel of Wally's skin through his shirt and Dick can _breathe_ for some reason, even though Wally_ can't._

Up close, he looks worse. Pallid skin is pulled taught over suddenly sharp bones and there are faint hollows in his cheeks Dick hasn't ever noticed before _(which is surprising, really; Dick had_ just _been admiring Wally's flushed, healthy looking face as he slept; then again, anyone would look better sleeping than coughing up blood.)_ Bags, dark, painful looking splotches resembling bruises, under his eyes add to the sallow mien he unconsciously dons and his lips look_ blue_ under the sheen of red. Wally suddenly jerks mutely awake, startling Dick who pulls back some, ghosting a breath over Wally's face.

His eyes are filmy. Flash is leaning down by his side in a second and he's talking lowly and quickly to Wally again, who looks like he's just woken up from a nap _(_not_ looking as if he's been jarred awake from a pain induced unconsciousness.)_ He blinks sluggishly at them, jaw working, mouth forming silent words before the pain seems to hit him and he yells, turning his head into Dick's hand as he coughs hotly against his skin, eyebrows furrowed deep. Dick pulls it back damp with red tinted saliva. Something in him cracks and he assumes it's his control _(but maybe it's his heart.)_

"Wally, what did Conner _do_?" He doesn't mean to be so accusatory _(or to sound so emotionally troubled)_ but Conner…he's the black sheep in the room. Conner must have done _something (something that can still be forgiven-if everything comes out OK-)_ but until then he _has_ to know, he _has_ to suspect it's his _teammate who hurt Wally _until any sort of evidence supports otherwise.

Wally's eyes lock onto his own and the hurt in them is unbridled. Dick silently vows to entail the pain onto the dealer ten times more _whelming (even if it is Conner)_ as Dick leans in close, places a hand on his shoulder again, sure of himself this time.

Wally starts, a gurgling, shallow gasp breaking from his lips as his eyes widen. The transition from overbearing pain to gallantry determination is surprising because next thing, Wally _sit's up_ even against the pleads and pushing gloved hands and protests-_from Batman, from Flash, from himself_- He shudders his way into a relatively comfortable position just to keep Dick waiting with baited breath, for the curt rasping words,_"Not…Supey's fault." _

Suddenly, his stomach drops and he falls still to the idea that has constantly been plaguing him since he first saw his friend hurt. It couldn't have been Conner who did this, because Dick has seen bruises on Wally, marks and injuries that show up and disappear and _maybe _sometimes it would be safest to assume it was because of them, because of a careless kick to the shin, a punch to the arm, an especially rough pat on the back, _an elbow to the ribs_, but he disbands that, throws it away.

Wounds _never_ got placed on Wally because of them. They never would.

The realization dawns on him so quickly he's jarred out of an unconscious mental retreat _(a personal berating, a severe reprimanding, a reminder of how bad a friend he is)_ when Wally gently prods him with trembling fingers.

As their eyes meet _(though the sunglasses; Wally's always been good at making them worthless)_ he attempts to grin, a sign that's probably supposed to mean he's telling the truth, that everything is OK _(a gesture undoubtedly supposed to comfort him)_, but all that Dick sees is pearly white teeth stained pink and pink lips stained red, posing in a quivering impersonation of a smile. His eyes are full of tears.

Wally's hand is clammy and cold despite his burning skin and Dick clumsily intertwines their fingers, trying his best to ignore the icy consistency of his palm. His eyes plead weakly and Dick is sure Wally is staring straight into his soul, no barriers. He repeats what he said before, slowly, broken between hacks and gasps-_"Not…Supey's fault…Not…Supey's fault…Not Conner's…FAULT"._

Dick squeezes his hand and flexes their intertwined fingers, tapping and rubbing a soothing beat onto the inside of Wally's wrist with his thumb, just like his mother used to do on an uneasy night of traveling because he understands, more than anyone else, he thinks mutely. He knows what this is, why it's happening, but not who's causing it.

_So who's hurting Wally?_

He slips into a docile sort of trance as Batman and Superman argue behind the back of the couch, heaving deeper breaths that sound mangled and choked over the indistinct murmur of voices. Dick only catches glimpses of their conversation, too absorbed in helping Flash and Black Canary lay Wally down properly; _"-might not be your responsibility or mine but…Batman, he wouldn't, even if he… doesn't matter Superman, even if it had been, evidence supports…we need to transport him to the Med Bay, now or else…something's not right here-"._

His attention is trained solely on Wally, whose red hair is limp and sweaty, whose uncle is panicking and talking nonsense in his ear, who's currently still and quiet and missing all that makes him _Wally_. Black Canary pushes him _(tries to)_ gently aside _(he doesn't budge, gives her a look that she seems to understand with a nod)_ and reaches down and around him to tentatively pull up Wally's shirt _(ignoring the smooth planes of skin he used to be infatuated with, Dick looks for the problem.)_

His gaze falls over the bruise and he hears someone gasping, another sobbing; it's amazingly big, spanning the length of Wally's side and discoloring the skin from a normal cream to purple, yellow around the edges. There is swelling along the notches in his ribs, the bloated skin looking grotesque with the bruising.

Dick feels bile rising in his throat.

Wally passes out completely in the Flash's arms on the way to the Watchtower Medical Bay, because –_"He's got a punctured lung, a-a broken rib-rib's maybe. Robin, Batman- I _swear_ I did not break him. I'm not _capable_ of doing it. I have _restraint_. I've got _control _now. His ribs, the break looked like it had been…it looked-but it couldn't be…I didn't do it, please believe me._ Please"- They're not allowed to come along.

They have to _wait _down at Mount Justice while their team mate is transported to a high tech medical facility and taken into surgery at some ungodly hour in the morning.

That's how their movie night comes to an end.

Conner is sent into a room with Black Canary. He comes out calm and looking worse for wear. The first thing he does upon exiting is walk into M'gann's comforting arms. They disappear into solitude.

Artemis and Kaldur are good company, he thinks absently, although quiet and still compared to the rapid pacing he's doing. Dick's thinking and concluding and piecing things together at the speed of light but nothing makes _sense_; he can't sit still, he can't think straight, not with Wally in surgery because of a serious injury he _failed _to report, another one Dick_ failed to notice_, another one he is _sure_ linked to abuse.

Tapping repeatedly at his chin, he groans and curses in his head, not knowing how to react. Dick feels vaguely lost _(and he does_ not _like that one bit)_. He continues on like that until Artemis comes over and places a hand on his shoulder, grip strong and voice gentle.

"Robin, _stop_. Acting like this isn't going to help Wally. It's not going to help _at all_. You're making me more anxious than I already am and I'm pretty sure Kaldur think's you've gone psycho." Sparing a glance at the Atlantean, Dick tries his best to give a small, apologetic smile.

"I know, I do, but I can't—I feel like it's _my fault_, Artemis. I feel like I should have known or I should have done something. I feel", he pauses, "responsible." Artemis shakes her head slowly at him but it's Kaldur who steps closer and speaks, proving him wrong_ (but only by proving him right as well.)_

"I'm sure we all partly feel at blame, Robin, but we must not forget that we are in fact not responsible for our friend's pain. It was another who inflicted it upon him, not I, not Conner, not you, not Artemis, not M'gann. All we can do is hold responsibility for the amount of faith and hope we put into Wally's safe return and his successful recovery. Let us think positively for him." Artemis looks taken aback and Dick's fairly sure he hasn't heard Kaldur speak that much about anything other than things related to missions. His smile is calming and Artemis tries to replicate it _(she really does.)_

"Yeah, see? Kaldur gets it. Don't worry about it, Robin. There was no _way_ you could have known about that unless Wally told you and to me it seems like the idiot was keeping this from everyone…I wonder why though, especially with an injury that _serious_…" Dick suddenly wonders if he should tell them, if he should alert them about what he suspects-no, what he's _sure_ is going on so when Wally comes back _(he_ is _coming back) _they can help him in the long run as well. He hesitates for a minute _(stops to think over the pros and cons-what cons?-)_ as Artemis and Kaldur strike up a conversation about their fellow team mate and just as he turns to them with the intention of confessing, the Zeta-Beam announces the arrival of Batman.

He is swift and urgent upon appearing, speaking even before the computer finishes its identification and he takes long legged strides towards them. His voice is deep and troubled, weary, and although Artemis and Kaldur probably can't tell the difference between his regular Batman voice and any other, he sounds troubled.

"Robin, come with me. _Now_."

Dick has a feeling this isn't good _(then again, his best friend -and crush- _was_ just coughing up blood on their couch. Things like that, in their line of work, are usually kick-starters for a whole oncoming storm of bad.)_ He obediently follows Batman into the hallway, out of hearing range from his team mates, who watch them go silently. The first thing his mentor says when they're alone has him giving a wide, relieved smile and feeling ten times lighter.

"Wally is stable. He almost lost a pint of blood, the majority of which flooded into his right lung and caused major problems with breathing, but it has been drained and the problem of oxygen deprivation has been averted, so has the threat of a pneumothorax. As we speak, he is out of a successful surgery and resting in bed. He should be fine."

Dick is so alleviated that he _almost_ forgets the no names in the field rule _(because technically, they're still working under pseudonyms.)_

"Bru-Batman, when can I see him? When can we see him?" Dick can sense the narrowing of eyes behind the cowl and there is a thick silence between them, a hesitation. Batman's gauntleted hand comes out to grasp his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. He ignores his questions _(not a good sign, Dick notes.)_

"He will be out of commission for a while, even after he fully heals. It would seem Wally has sustained other injuries in the past that did not heal properly and he will be making up lost recovery time for those as well, but that's not what I came to tell you." There is another hesitation and Bruce _(not Batman) _adds secure pressure to his shoulder again as he tightens his mouth into a firm line. Suddenly, Dick doesn't feel so light.

"From what the Justice League has seen in the ex-rays and physical examination of Kid Flash, it's become highly probable that we assume Wally is being or has been physically abused."


	6. The Talk

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle (actually, not so subtle) brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily! Young Justice

**Author:** anonymously_miscellaneous

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, cannon, overall kind of a dark fic.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-We did it. We did it! We did it~ Finally, I have updated. I don't really know what to say; oh wait, yes I do. Here 's my customary, 'I'm sorry'. There is really no excuse, except for I am a procrastinator, my computer is slow and likes to crash, and a rather unpleasant sickness has been spreading through my busy household. This is dedicated to all those who keep reading and don't stop believing (and to the kind and lovely as ever, immer wenn es dunkel wird, my considerate, amazing beta, who helped me tremendously throughout this chapter-she technically even wrote some of it-. Kudo's to her~!) Ah, I almost forgot. There is some crude language in here, so I felt the need to tell you beforehand. I do not intend to offend anyone by using it, or by writing a story about a blossoming alcoholic and their connection to familial abuse; those are both very serious things that do not always go hand in hand and should not be taken lightly (I don't mean to detract to their seriousness by writing a fanfiction about them, please take note of that.) Well, here is Chapter 6. I put some hard work into this (I'm sorry yet again; after a certain point, I just kind of give up.) I hope anyone who reads enjoys regardless~!-

* * *

The second time Wally got hit, he handled it much better; fought off the impulsive urge to hit back, defend himself, spare himself the unnecessary pain, because it may have only been the second time he got punched_ (and he was ashamed to say he was expecting another hit ever since)_, it wasn't only the second time he had been subjected to his father's ruthless anger since his first revelation; since his first glimpse of Rudolph West _(it also wasn't the second time he had started to worry about the next blow landing on his mother's delicate face.)_

After the initial shock _(and bruise)_ went away, Wally was left with too many thoughts about Rudolph to be considered good, for either of them. Wally had always been gifted with a hyperactive, imaginative mind and he was glad for that, but concerning what it was he was recently thinking up, he wasn't too sure anymore. Wally conjured up countless scenarios with his father hitting him again, with Rudolph flying off the handle and throwing another temper tantrum, no big deal. If his father tried to hit him again, he had sworn to stop him, he'd certainly hit back _(until he realized that if it wasn't Wally he was hitting, it would be someone else; someone even more undeserving.)_

That was what he concluded before he experienced Rudy's full blown temper, with his mother present as well.

Ever since the incident, Wally's father had been increasingly unhappy, and drunk for that matter _(Wally himself had become increasingly fed up with his father, his anger only fueled by his mother's quiet dismissal, until it wasn't quiet anymore-and not the least bit a passive write off-)._ He often came home _(whenever he didn't just go out, and stay out, with his buddies)_ brooding and silent and imposing, withdrawn as he dug around in the alcohol cabinet for what was laying within_ (and it was stupid really, because what reason did he have for being so distant ?)_ His mother was always disapproving on such nights, even more so than when Rudolph failed to come home for dinner, preferring to return at midnight, reeking of beer and smoke.

On one particular night, when his father had been out of the house every single night that week, Wally had unfortunately been up, in the living room watching a movie with his mother, when Rudy staggered in, hammered and hard-faced, grumbling at them as he struggled to lock the door.

His mother was on her feet in an instant, snagging the keys from him and speaking lowly as Rudolph pushed around her and marched to the kitchen. Wally watched them from his peripheral, unconsciously relaxing his tense muscles as his father opened the fridge and rummaged around for food, turned his bulky back on the alcohol cabinet _(at least he wouldn't aim to get even more plastered.)_

His mother was still speaking to his father when he caught a glimpse of her cross face, her angrily flushed cheeks, her straightening posture. It had been a long time since Wally had last heard her raise her voice _(with the intention of it being used to reprimand)_, so he started and turned his attention towards them fully when her loud voice broke through the low chatter of the actors on TV, quivering and straining with repressed anger. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides and Rudolph didn't even look up from his search in the fridge.

"Rudy, you can't keep doing this! It's not acceptable, whether there's an excuse or not! You have a responsibility in this family and you're not rising up to it." Wally heard an offhanded murmur, and a dismissive gesture was made impatiently towards his mother. He stood up and quietly stepped closer. His mother continued tersely, lividly, not noticing his presence; his father was oblivious to it as well.

"You also have an impressionable, young son, Rudy, one who needs a role model, a _father_, not a filthy drunkard who sets bad examples, when he's even _here_, that is!" Still his father remained unaffected by his mother's words, and Wally felt the tension rising; his intuition told him this little scene would turn out badly _(and he fought down the instinctive 'fight or flight' reaction; he had been preparing too long for the latter.)_

Suddenly, his mother was in front of Rudolph, worming him away from the fridge and closing the door with a snap of her hip. As much as Wally would admire his mother for her fearless antics later, he decided that was_ definitely_ not the right course of action at the moment, seeing as his father's shoulders stiffened and his own fists clenched _(she now had his attention)_. Rudolph briskly turned away from her and she took a step towards his back _(bad idea, bad idea!)_, opening her mouth to speak before Wally could object _("come on mom, I thought you were the sensible one!")_

"You will _not_ come into this house after a night out in the local bars, scouring for food when there was a perfectly edible meal on that table, not even two hours ago, which _you _decided to skip out on, in favor of choosing to be with your_ friends _over your _family_. You _won't_ keep doing this, Rudolph!"

Whatever part of his father that was still disinterested in his mother's "nagging" was abruptly chased away. He whirled on her and Wally's heart stuttered. That gnarly mask he wore _(the one that looked unsettlingly youthful)_ sure looked familiar. He debated taking a step away or one closer.

"I can keep doing whatever the _hell_ it is I want to, ya' hear me? I'm the _man_ of this house, I'm the provider! If it weren't for this _filthy drunkard,_ you wouldn't have food to eat or water to drink or a house to live in, or a table to put those pathetic things you call meals on. You wouldn't even have those nice, expensive clothes on ya' back if it weren't for me, woman!" At this point, he grabbed at her arm and pulled her closer, ignoring her outraged, breathless "Rudy!" and Wally's decision to take _several_ steps forward just as Rudolph shook his harried looking mother, hands white knuckled around her rag doll arm.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me 'bout responsibility, when all you do is make minimum wage on a _busy day_! What I need is for you to take some of this god damned responsibility, pay the bills and the taxes, manage the mortgage and fees and bank accounts; what I need is for this _impressionable my ass_, son of mine to take some of it too, to not be such a little Momma's boy and get a job, a _real_ one that doesn't involve dressing up in a little pansy suit, playing pretend and running around all day with a bunch of _freaks_!" That _stung_ and Wally froze where he was when his father's eyes, glazed over and _cold_, fell on him; the moment his heart started drumming in his chest and a sick feeling pooled in his stomach, a wicked smile warped Rudolph's face.

It was_ inhuman._

"What I need is for you to shut the hell up 'bout responsibilities, since you'll never do more than bring in a measly income that could give us, what, food for a _week_?" He snorted and pushed his mother away; she stumbled for a split second before Wally was by her side and holding onto her shoulders, supporting her as they backed away so she didn't fall, so she didn't get _hit (Wally had a feeling she was already going to have bruises on her arm.)_

"With this kid," he jabbed his thumb jerkily at Wally and the gesture shouldn't have been as _cruel _as it was, "it would probably only cover food for a few days,_ tops_." His mother turned to give him a forlorn, pitying look and he saw a few tears slip out onto her cheeks as she stepped out of his arms and _slapped_ Rudolph across the face. Wally suddenly had the ability to move again.

_"Mom!"_ He started pulling her back even as _she_ jerkily stabbed her finger in his fathers pinched face, voice oddly even _(just the opposite of Wally's unsteady nerves.)_

"What in _God's name_ has gotten into you?! How could you _say_ those things in front of your son, you pig-headed bastard?! How could you be so _selfish_ and _crude _and _completely_ closed-minded towards your family? You're…" she jerked out of Wally's grasp once more and his eyes jumped from Rudolph's steadily reddening face to his mother's steadily growing insanity _(how could she stand up to this monster?)_

"I want you out of the house, Rudolph. Please, I'll call you a cab, but I want you _out of this house_ until you come to your senses and calm down, alright? You're scaring me and I don't want you around Wally like this. I can't even-" shaking her head, she turned on her heel and exited the kitchen swiftly.

Right as Wally was about to follow her lead _(because he sure didn't want to be in the same room as this man)_, he heard the door to the master bedroom slam shut and he felt a hand grab onto the back of his shirt and _yank._

He did a pathetic job of trying to jerk out of Rudolph's grasp and he paid for his failure when his spine collided with the refrigerator door handle and his shoulder blades bit painfully into the gap between the fridge and freezer doors; spikes of pain shot throughout his body. Wally tried arching his back away from the hard object, and ultimately the heavy, crushing pressure of a hand gripping the back of his neck, feeling that anxious, jittery weight in his gut grow until he realized it was_ fear_ causing the hairs on the back of his arms to stand up straight, that made his heart beat_ faster_ than his normal definition of _fast_, and as he tried to bend away from the pain as well, he got backhanded for his efforts.

He had pondered as his right cheek squished painfully against the freezer and his left cheek stung from the hit, how disconnected he felt, kind of like it was an out of body experience. Shouldn't he have been defending himself? Shouldn't he have been pushing the bulk of his father away and fleeing? Shouldn't he have been stopping the fist plummeting towards his face _(because of course he could stop it)_? Shouldn't he have been doing_ something_, he wondered, as he did_ nothing._

Wally came back to himself when the punch broke messily along his jaw bone and neck, only then noticing that his father was hissing obscurities at him, breathing heavily, spittle flying from his snarling mouth. He blinked and sucked in a deep breath; his ear was faintly ringing.

"You little piece of _shit_, this is all _your_ fault, not mine! If only you could'a been a _normal kid_, not some super-powered weirdo, everything would be different! It's Barry's fault, that stupid son of a bi-" Wally was suddenly overcome by an intense hatred for the man and he pushed back as hard as he could on the hand around his neck, feeling a few joints pop under the pressure. Rudolph let go with a yell, jerking his hand away as Wally ducked under his arms and stumbled to the other side of the kitchen, breathing heavily. He glared at his father, uncaring of what would happen. He was _so angry (and oblivious to how badly he was shaking.)_ To his credit, his voice was level when he spoke, although it did break once or twice. He didn't even have time to be embarrassed about it.

"Don't blame him! Uncle Barry has nothing to do with how I "turned out", and mom has nothing to do with why you're acting like a dick-headed drunk, who's not a man at_ all_, so don't think about blaming her either! It's all you, asshole! This is all on _you_!" For a moment, it was silent_ (and he could feel how much of a mistake that was; Wally instantly regretted speaking out-god, his stupid mouth, he needed to learn how to _shut it_-)._

Rudolph watched him with dark eyes for a long time and then he barked out a laugh; he only had to take two clumsy, long-legged steps to reach Wally and shove him back until his head banged against a cupboard. His heart jumped in his chest _(and his stomach jerked; his father reeked overbearingly of heady alcohol and acrid smoke. It was nauseating and made his head spin.)_

"You know who you remind me of? Myself, when I was a stuck up, know it all, arrogant little _shit_. You don't know what the _hell_ you're talkin' about. You have _absolutely no idea_. So why don't you just shut your trap while you're ahead and keep it shut, you hear son? Take some advice from your father, _boy_; respect is doin' as your told without question, listing to what someone says," he annunciated his statement with a series of rough pats to his cheek and Wally's hands gripped hard onto the countertop, his teeth ground painfully together, "and not talkin' back to your elders because _they're always right_ and _you're always wrong_."

Wally was sure he'd break a tooth considering the force of his clenched jaw; he tried to avert his eyes, his breath coming in heavy puffs out of his nose, but his father was having _none_ of that. Grabbing roughly at his chin, Rudolph pulled his head level so their gaze met and his voice was a deep rumbling thing, like the sound of an oncoming thunderstorm. Wally never had liked thunderstorms much.

"Eye contact's important too, boy. Did we _really_ raise you to be a disrespectful, back-talkin', idiot?"

His father's clammy fingers squeezed painfully into his chin, a fierce glint shined in his eyes and Wally…short-circuited.

_(What could he do? He…he couldn't stoop to his father's level. He couldn't hit him. He couldn't push him away without making a scene; throwing his father off balance would definitely cause him to fall and by the time his mother came into the room, his father would be on the ground and Wally would undoubtedly be put on the spot- blamed by his father, none the less. He could just play along, be "respectful" as his father puts it, but then…that would be expected of him every time, and he…already lied to himself, saying it was an accident, god, he's so stupid; just an accident, it was only an accident, yeah, one that repeated itself and would undoubtedly continue to repeat itself, no, no, that wouldn't happen, he…what could he do?)_

A rough slap to the back of his head brought him out of his useless thoughts and Rudolph's voice growled in his ear; Wally shifted back uncomfortably and tried not to flinch, keeping their eyes locked.

"You hear what I'm saying, boy? Or is it all flying right over that stupid head of yours?" He stiffened.

Wally was _not_ stupid. So what, he had a B average in English and a high C in Pre-Calc. He had an A in Chemistry and another in History. So what, he scored an 81 on that really hard test he crammed for last week and only got a 78 on his last big Science Exam. So what?

Wally was _not_ stupid.

He gritted his teeth and took another deep breath to steel himself. Suddenly realizing he _hurt (the pain once again hitting him like a hammer in the gut)_ his eyes stung and as he opened his mouth to say something _(he wasn't really sure what, all he planned was to speak out, to_ talk back _like he was told_ not _to)_ he heard a door open, _footsteps_, and he started panicking.

Wally somehow managed to duck under his father's arms again, although an elbow clipped his shoulder blade _hard _and he stumbled, straightened himself out as he stiffly exited the kitchen and blocked his mother from entering, ignoring his father's comment; "Don't you forget that, _son_."

Rudolph's cursing and fumbling for a glass was nothing but background noise, but his heavy footsteps and loud movements made Wally jump anyways. He didn't like having his back turned on him.

He absently thought he never would.

Wally's mother looked remotely more composed upon exiting the backroom; she kept her red, puffy eyed downcast, pinned on the duffel bag held loosely in her hands and inside, through the heat behind his rapidly blinking eyes, he could see clothes and toiletries.

It was quite a big bag.

"Wally, honey, why don't you go upstairs. I-I'll walk your father out to the cab and see him o-" He took the bag from her hands and turned her around, pushed her carefully towards the bedroom. The hallway was dark and he was glad that she most likely couldn't see his face if she looked; he bet it looked stupid, stupid and splotchy and emotional and freckled. His voice didn't crack when he spoke to her.

"I've got it mom. Don't worry. I'll take care of this." Wally could tell she was grateful but she hesitated and he noticed her gaze flicker to the sounds of his father pouring something _(surely alcohol)_ into a glass, grumbling all the while.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Wally. I-" He dropped a kiss on her cheek and aimed for a smile _(it was surprisingly easier this time around)_ even though his face hurt and his back ached and his head throbbed and his eyes unexpectedly prickled with moisture. A particularly loud slam of a cupboard door made both of them jump. He tried to ignore the noises coming from the kitchen.

"I'd rather you go to sleep, mom. You look tired. Besides, I have things I need to do." A thin smile eagerly tugged at her lips as she turned around and Wally felt minutely better because of it.

"What plans do you have at 10:30 at night, mister?" Shrugging, he threw the bag over his shoulder and leaned against the wall, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, all the while trying again to ignore the sounds behind him _(it was surprisingly harder this time around.)_

"Oh, you know, the usual; a standard late night fridge raid, channel surfing on the couch, falling asleep to 'I Love Lucy' re-runs, holding a bag of Doritos while simultaneously nursing a gallon of Dr. Fizz. That's the good life, mom, I'm telling ya'. There's no other way to live than with a face full of junk food." His mother threw her head back and laughed; Wally smiled and it was _genuine. _

Their joy was short lived when Wally's mother quietly announced the cab was here, glancing over his shoulder.

"Wally-" She started, a desperate sort of plea tinting her voice as she tried to take back the bag. He stepped out of her reach _(into the harsh light from the kitchen.)_

"I've got it mom. Just go rest. I've got it." _(Did he really?)_ For a moment, she eyed his face uncertainty, a weathered look of concern placed firmly on her features. He found it sad that it looked so natural_ (especially compared to the foreign look of surprise that washed over her face the next second; her complexion changed from a healthy peach to what he could only call sickly just as fast.)_

"Oh...thank you dear."

Abruptly, she turned away, disappearing behind the door of the master bedroom without another word.

Wally wrote it off as her being tired, upset, afraid _(even though it_ hurt him _that she didn't offer any comfort.)_ He would be afraid too _(who the hell was he kidding, he _was _afraid.)_

It took him a moment to build up enough nerve to enter the kitchen, and Rudolph paid him no attention. He was too busy intently watching the remaining dregs of a now empty bottle of Jack Daniels slosh around inside a small glass and Wally's hands clenched around the straps of the bag.

"Your cab is here."

Pushing away from the table with an indignant grunt _("I didn't even wanna' come home in the first place, whatever")_, glass in hand, he fumbled towards Wally, who flattened himself against the wall, held the bag out to his father, who yanked it from him and shoved the glass into his grasp as insurance. Some of the alcohol splashed onto his hand, his shirt, and Rudy murmured, voice gravely and thick as he leaned in closer, "Didn't I tell you about respect, boy? Huh, what do you say? What's missing?"

It took Wally longer than he would have personally liked to come up with an answer and, playing his 'respectful' role as obedient, dutiful son, he managed to whisper through clenched teeth a hoarse, "There you go,_ sir_." He swallowed; his throat stuffed with cotton, Wally added quickly, "Have a good night."

Perhaps the phrase came out a bit too sarcastic to Rudy's alcoholic ears and he huffed, laughed a drunken warble as he reached for the glass again and downed the rest of it. "If ya don't mean it, then don't say it. Or at least make it more convincing."

His father roughly patted him on the head and ruffled his hair, chuckling to himself as he stumbled away.

The door slammed shut behind him and Wally had never been more glad to be alone, looking at a closed door.

_(Later that night, after he had contemplated a lot of things in the dark,-and changed his shirt-he would stop by a mirror and realize why his mother was staring at him; there was a bruising stain on his jawbone, stretching under his chin near his ear. _

_She must have seen it. She must have noticed it._

_Why didn't she bring it up?)_

Wally wakes with a start and the first thing he sees is an unfamiliar ceiling.

That's new. For the past few years, he's been so used to waking up to the sight of his water-stained, cob-webbed, dusty ceiling.

The last time he woke up under a foreign one-he stops himself there.

Wally is cold and there's a draft and it's blowing in _all_ the wrong places _(is he wearing a dress or something?)_

Blinking, he notices he doesn't know where he is. He doesn't remember what happened.

He _does (sadly)_ remember what he dreamt about _(or what he had a memory, reoccurring flashback-thing about.)_

A moment of silence goes by and he shifts his eyes around, too drowsy to bother moving his head.

Why is he so tired?

Something is beeping. It's beeping a lot and it's quite annoying. It reminds him of this one song he used to love when he was a kid; it had all this techno, synthetic rhythmic crap that he thought was neat, that he now thinks is lame.

It takes him a minute to realize it's the beep of a heart monitor.

So he's in a hospital.

Why?

He doesn't know.

Where?

Turning his head takes a lot more energy than he thinks it should and is that the _Earth_ he sees-?

"Hey kiddo."

Oh. Wally knows that voice _(strange; he thought he was alone.)_

Turning his head the other way takes just as much energy and he's met by the bright colors of his uncles speed suit.

"Hey, Uncle Barry."

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his words surprisingly light.

It doesn't cross his mind to ask where he is until after his uncle steps closer and starts talking _(wherever he is, he's safe; he can see Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter in another room, talking about something; why are they here in the hospital?)_

"How are you feeling?"

Wally considers that.

"Uh…I'm not?"

"Good, that's," he sighs, "good."

Wally thinks he raises an eyebrow.

"Is it? Huh. I thought being unable to feel your body was, you know, generally _not_ good. I…do have a body, right Uncle Barry?" That draws a terse chuckle from the man and he pulls his cowl down, running a hand through his blonde hair _("You've got a, uh, a cow lick, yeah, right there. Heh. Cowl lick.")_

"Yes Wally, you've got a body, and you're right, but now, not feeling anything is probably for the best. We need to talk about what happened or…what's happening."

_(What's happening?)_

"Let's stick with what happened. Why am I wherever I am, not being able to feel my body, in space, with the majority of the Justice League?"

His uncle's quiet laughter surprises him _(it actually sounds amused, for starters, considering he's in a hospital, which tends to be a bad sign. At least he has a body; wait. Uncle Barry didn't specify. Is it_ his _body?)_

"You're in the Watchtower Medical Bay, Wally. You suffered from some fractured ribs and a punctured lung. You were taken here; they patched up your injuries in surgery. "

Huh.

Wally watches his uncle shift closer with a frown.

"The loss of physical feeling would be due to the medication. A special kind that works on us speedsters, well, with a normal dosage that is. Do you not remember what happened?"

He does, all of the sudden, and he groans thinking about Conner, about Artemis and Kaldur and M'gann. About _Dick_.

"How did you get those injuries, Wally?"

He doesn't answer. This isn't good.

"We're going to need to talk about this. There has been high suspicion that your wounds are linked to…abuse."

He still gives no answer _(is this really happening?)_

"We need to talk about it."

Wally laughs dryly and closes his eyes, surprised to feel his face under his hand or his hand on his face, whichever. This isn't good.

He somehow manages to lick his lips and sigh.

"Yeah, Uncle Barry, I bet we do."

* * *

Notes?:

Well, I'm finally done. It took me longer to upload on FF because of tumblr, construction outside my house, Hans Zimmer, and catchy J-pop covers from psychologically scarring Mecha anime's that totally don't have any homo vibes between the main protagonist and the, I guess, antagonist .

Yeah.

Enjoy.


	7. The Revelation

**Pairing:** Dick/Wally, subtle (actually, not so subtle) brotherly Roy/Wally, closeknitfamily! Young Justice

**Author:** anonymously_miscellaneous

**Warning:** Abuse, mentions of non-con, slash, cannon, overall kind of a dark fic.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters of Young Justice. They respectively belong to DC.

-Hi. For once, I don't really have that much to say. I dedicate this crappy chapter to all those lovely, supportive, patient readers who have been oh so kind with me. Thank you and I'm sorry (there it is. I'm not breaking the ritual just yet.) Please know that the quality (and quantity) of my chapters and the gaps between updates are not in any way based off of me giving up or getting lazy (actually, that's pretty much what it is; the latter, not the former, I promise.) I don't mean to get hopes up or anything, just to let them down (not at all gently.) Things have been rough. I'm mourning. I'm sick. I'm tired. I'm trying. I please ask that you can bear with me. Thank you all again. I hope you can enjoy this chapter. The next one is already in the works (no promises about anything though.) Have a lovely night.-

* * *

Dick sits quietly away from the others, absently fiddling with the burdening weight of his responsibility, shifting it testily in hand, daring to lift it to his shoulders, to lay it heavily and bitter on his tongue, wondering if that's what the aftertaste will be like, lingering in his mouth even after having spit out the dreaded words at his friends feet.

It had been some time since Batman took his exit, claiming in that shifty voice of his, "I have to leave this up to you, Robin. I have my own duties to take care of at the moment, and now, so do you."

He had made some sort of objection, an odd thing caught between very meaningless hand gestures, a quick, nauseating series of whiplash head shakes, and an expression of what he hoped was clearly saying 'NO' because he couldn't form words, he couldn't ask the questions he wanted to _("Are you kidding please tell me you're joking this isn't __funny__ why would you joke about this no you wouldn't no you wouldn't joke but no who why how. Who.")_ just flapped his hands and shook his head profusely, formed some very colorful words in his head that died on the pallet of his tongue.

Batman took pity, sighed heavily and patted his shoulder again. Dick didn't know what to do, finally at a loss.

"I presume you'll take your time and that's fine; it's a lot to absorb, and I'm sorry, on your behalf and Wally's as well. I'm going to have to put my foot down if your team mates aren't informed by the time I return with a few members of the Justice League in tow. This will be good for you, Robin. I know it will. Think of it as a form of closure. Don't fear it. The weight of it will be significantly lessened once you get it off your chest."

Dick hasn't moved _once_ since then and no one has tried to jostle him out of his revere yet.

He catches his teams lingering looks, he hears their quiet musings, and over the course of what he can grandly assume has been a few hours, he has come to ignore them.

All he can think about is _Wally. Abuse. Fractured ribs. Punctured lung. Wally. Bruises. Abuse. Broken bones. Wally. Blood. Injuries. Abuse. __Wally._

Dick starts, tenses up when he feels the unexplainable sensation of his mind being breached, a disconcerting thing that settles at the base of his skull and makes his skin crawl. He stands up quickly and M'gann looks guilty when his eyes fall over her, when he represses a shudder at her hasty mental retreat.

"I…I'm sorry Robin. You've been so preoccupied with whatever's on your mind…We were all just getting worried, especially when you…didn't reply to any of us calling your name."

"I heard you." He says, and the words feel mechanical, almost like someone else says them. Dick blinks. M'gann and Kaldur share a sidelong glance. He doesn't miss it. Artemis pushes away from her perch up against the wall, eyeing him carefully, almost…untrustingly. He frowns.

"Yeah, right…Listen, care to tell us why Batman pulled you away earlier? Ever since he left you've been…weird." M'gann perks up suddenly, an idea blossoming in her eyes and she asks eagerly, "Did he mention something about Wally? Is he alright?"

Dick's gaze falls on Connor, who's back faces him. His shoulders are tense and Dick has to avert his eyes, train them on the clenched fist by his side, which doesn't make him feel any better. His previous one track mind is broken by a dreadful regret, a pitiful guilt, and Dick wants to apologize all of a sudden.

How could he have_ really_ thought Conner hurt Wally? How could he have _really_ blamed him?

How could he have_ really_ not faced up to the fact that Wally was being abused? How could he _really_ let things get this far? How could Dick _really_ let things get this bad?

"Hello? Earth to Robin. You still there?" Artemis looks annoyed and angry and worried, which isn't a good combination of things for her. Dick nods slowly, carefully pushes the chain link mesh of 'regret, sorry, and Conner' to the back of his mind _(he can always apologize later; he has something else to do first)_ and glances at everyone once more; Kaldur's brows are furrowed and he appears to be not so strangely serious, but M'gann looks severe and Dick can assume Conner has adopted a similar expression. They're all as ready as they're going to be.

That thought doesn't comfort him.

He directs his words towards M'gann. "Batman did mention Wally. He's…Wally's stable and safely out of surgery. He had some fractured ribs and a punctured lung. Blood got into his lungs, which is why…he's OK though. We won't be able to see him for a little while longer. He'll also be out of commission for a few weeks, at most. But…Wally's OK."

Dick wonders dully at the back of his mind why that feels like a lie.

Artemis is the first to react verbally. "That's great! What's not is that someone withheld this information from us for an unacceptable amount of time," a narrow eyed glare is sent his way, but there is no real malice behind it and Dick's heart sinks,_ ("It's because I'm weak when it comes to Wally. Haven't you been able to tell? Haven't you noticed? Please understand.")_ "and I won't be able to knock some sense into him since he's bed ridden." M'gann laughs and Kaldur smiles towards Conner; he's turned his head slightly Dick's way and he can see Conner's profile. He looks grimly pleased.

"Is that all?" Of course it has to be Conner who asks. Dick tries not to grimace, curls his hands into fists and for a split second, he seriously contemplates lying through his teeth.

"No." How does he even go about this? It's not like he can tread carefully; the time for that is long gone. He needs to get it out, but he doesn't want to get it out; he doesn't want to accept it. He has to though. He has to be the bringer of bad news. That's his job right now. He has to do it. He has to get it out _(but he doesn't have to accept it.)_ He has to be the one to tell them.

Dick takes a deep breath and calms himself, speaks before he's made up his mind and he once again feels like someone else is speaking through him, speaking for him _(most likely because he wishes that were the case.)_

"The Justice League has every right to assume that Wally is being physically abused."

Dick's not quite too sure what to expect; tears, outrage, shock, silence. He gets none of what he suspected he would.

Conner stands slowly and turns his way. His head is bowed, his shoulders stiff. M'gann is wide eyed and Artemis is slack jawed, head shaking minutely in disbelief. Kaldur has yet to drop his serious façade.

"I…I had my suspicions. I can't believe I never…by who? Do they have any idea who could have done this- who could be doing this to Wally?" Blinking, he stares at Conner's hard set face, at M'gann's aching eyes, and Artemis's smoldering look, at Kaldur's schooled expression, at the anger in his calm. It's…it's relieving.

"You…what?" Conner finally meets his gaze and his eyes are positively burning.

"I thought, you know, maybe he was just naturally clumsy and running into things, or maybe even just slipping up on missions when no one was looking. I thought…maybe he didn't want anyone else to see his wounds because he thinks he's the weakest link in our team. I thought he was just ashamed. I never thought…I could have done something, maybe if I took my intuition seriously, I could have-" M'gann gets up and clings to Conner, hushing him with a quick peck on his cheek as she wraps herself around his broad shoulders.

"Don't you even start that up again Conner. Obviously…it was none of our faults. We…couldn't have prevented this, no matter what we thought." Artemis steps up and takes the bait _(which obviously wasn't what M'gann expected, or intended, by the way she flinches slightly at Artemis's tone.)_

"But that's the thing, M'gann! We could have prevented this! If we looked at the situation from a different perspective and examined every possible reason for why it was like it was, this conversation wouldn't even be happening! If we were more aware, more in tune with each other, we could have swerved right away from this!" Dick shakes his head and tries to speak out, mind muddled_ (they…knew?)_ but Kaldur beats him to the punch.

"M'gann, Artemis, Conner; please stop. Do not blame yourselves, nor all of us as a whole. The only one held responsible is the one who is causing Wally harm. In no way whatsoever did we have an influence on how things could have turned out; it is in the past now, and while it will not be forgotten until it is resolved, there is no changing what has already happened." M'gann looks caught between sheepish and remorseful and Artemis scowls and mumbles something under her breath; this time, Conner does not smile at it.

Dick finally gathers his wit and speaks. "Wait. Wait, so, you all…knew?" Everyone's face suddenly mirrors M'gann's. Conner is the only one who, reluctantly, meets his eyes _(he's...hesitant. He thinks Dick still blames him.)_

"Like I said…I had my suspicions. I guess we all did. And now that they've been confirmed…" Dick lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and with it drains all his tension. Noticing that, yes, his chest _does_ feel lighter _(but by no means does it feel weightless)_ he starts to evaluate the situation.

"I…I thought I was the only one who noticed. Gosh, I thought I was the only one who even saw his injuries! How careless of me…I guess I…" _(I have to accept the facts, for Wally, for the team, for myself, for the best; Wally is being abused.)_

Surprised to feel someone's hand drop onto his shoulder, he looks up to find it's Conner who's comforting him _(and in all reality, that's probably the last thing he deserves, because he's so __stupid__ it sets his hair on end and makes him grit his teeth and yearn to hit something, but he accepts the gesture gratefully, does his best to look it in turn.)_

"Don't beat yourself up about it _(oh, the sheer irony of that sentence makes him smile wryly, uncontrollably)_. I bet you were the first to become aware of what was going on, attentive as you are, Robin. You've probably endured the most." But Dick shakes his head, no, makes sure to keep his eyes locked on Conner's _(because even though he's spent plenty of sleepless nights berating himself and doubting his logic and beating up his psyche, none of the abuse had been __physical__.)_

"You're wrong. Wally has and I'll be damned if I let him "endure" any more on his own. We've got to do something, we've got to play a part in catching the scum who would do this to our comrade, to our friend, and I don't know about you guys, but concerning busting this sick villain, I'm pretty whelmed." There is a mutual, silent agreement among them, a steely eyed resolve dedicated to their missing team mate, and they spend the rest of their time planning and talking and plotting what to do next, how to react and where to go from here.

They spend the rest of their time working on how they're going to save Wally _(because sometimes even hero's need to be rescued.)_

When Batman returns with Superman and Black Canary, they're ready _(for what exactly? For helping their friend.)_

* * *

More notes, fun:

Boy, do I suck. I have a feeling this will be that one chapter that everyone despises and/or doesn't finish reading.


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